


Back to the Wall

by SirCumference



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Bisexual Disaster Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bisexuality, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Disability, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay Keith, Humor, Keith (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, PINING KEITH, POV Alternating, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Post-Concussion Syndrome, Recovery, Sexual Content, Sick Lance (Voltron), Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Strangers to Lovers, damn these tags make this sound like a really serious fic, everyone is canadian, gay disaster keith, gratuitous mentions of buttplugs, its lighthearted i swear, pining lance, shiro is in a polyamorous triad, very occasional french
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 115,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirCumference/pseuds/SirCumference
Summary: Look, Lance is fine, okay? He’s doing great, actually. He’s starting to climb again, he's got amazing friends that love him, his bladder is super healthy right now, and he's finally sworn off dating! Which was a great idea, really. Best idea ever.It’s just too bad he meets Keith. Dude's gonna throw all his plans out of whack.OR a climbing gym AU where Keith is a lonely bike mechanic with a cute dog, and Lance is a grad student with a chronic illness. They reconnect after a past hook up and things sort of spiral from there.PSA: reuploaded!





	1. Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noussommeslessquelettes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noussommeslessquelettes/gifts).



> I was having a very nice conversation with Noussommeslessquelettes about their work, and they said that sports AUs are fun to write because they're "high stakes without it being universe dying stakes." I thought that was a really interesting point, and then proceeded to write this: a sports AU with the lowest stakes imaginable, where everyone is only competing against themselves.
> 
> This fic will be dealing with themes related to chronic illness, sports injury, mental health, and recovery. It's also about two people falling in love, who just so happen to be recovering from chronic conditions. I wanted to write this story because even though 3 in 5 Canadians suffer from a chronic condition, we never get any representation! It's normal for a lot of people to be dealing with this kind of thing, and I hope that this fic will make some of you feel less alone.
> 
> If you're here because you're following my other ongoing fic, have no fear! I will be finishing it. I just needed a break from the whole quadruple timeline thing and decided to write something traditional and linear for once in my life.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a doctor! Anything medical in here is the result of me projecting my own experience and also researching to fill in the blanks.
> 
> [a glossary of climbing terms, and a description of Lance's condition are in the end notes btw. Enjoy!]

Lance has been having what he fondly refers to as a “good bladder day.” It’s actually been more like a “good bladder week,” but today is especially great because he feels up to having sex. Which isn’t rare, at least not lately, but things are feeling especially nice and comfortable and not burny or stabby down there, so he figures he should take advantage. There is, of course, only one issue.

“PIIIIDGE!”

“What.”

“I’m having a guy over, can you leave for, like, I dunno —”

“No.” Pidge lowers her headphones and spins around in her desk chair. She raises an eyebrow. “It’s fucking 11 am on a Sunday, I’m not leaving the apartment.”

“Come ooooon,” Lance groans, hands clutching desperately at her door frame. “It’ll be quick!”

“I’m sure it will.” She smirks.

“Wha — HEY!”

“I can’t hear anything anyway! I’ve got headphones.”

“But it’s embarrassing!”

She sighs, adjusting her glasses. “Okay, look. Matt and I are in the middle of a _very_ intense campaign and I’m not abandoning it so you can get off for ten minutes.”

“I’m not just gonna — we’re gonna have sex!”

“Okay.” She shrugs.

“B-but,” 

“Look, I won’t leave my room or anything until you give me the all clear, kay? I’ll pee and get a snack beforehand, whatever.”

“Ugh,” Lance sighs, running a hand down his face. “Okay, FINE. Fine.”

“So…” Pidge starts, crossing her arms. “Who is it?”

“I dunno, some guy from Grindr. I don’t know him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hmph, boring.” She spins back around in her chair.

“HEY! Not everyone I hook up with can be _interesting_ , like that lady that breeds hamsters or whatever.”

“I’m just saying, ‘some dude from a hook up app’ isn’t gonna make for a great story.”

“Well, so what?” Lance crosses his arms. “I’m not gonna marry him. It’s _purely physic_ —”

“Okay, that’s my cue to start gaming again.” She puts her headphones back on. “Gimme a 10-minute warning and I’ll go pee, kay?”

Lance shoots her a finger gun, winking. “You got it.”

. . .

 _That went pretty well,_ Lance muses, as he washes the dude’s buttplug in the bathroom sink afterward. He knows it’s kind of a weird thing to do after an anonymous app hook up, but it’s his home and he’s being a good host, is all. His Ma would be proud — actually, no, she would be nothing because she’s never gonna know about this. Ever. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with him.

He cringes, turning off the faucet and grabbing Pidge’s toy cleaner from the medicine cabinet. Spritzing the glass plug a couple times and wiping it with some toilet paper, he admires the its frankly beautiful black swirling pattern. _Huh._ Dude’s got good taste. Maybe he should get one of these.

He returns to his room, just in time to witness Grindr guy slipping on his t-shirt. 

“Hey, man. Where did you buy this?” he asks, waving the plug in the air a little. The guy blinks at him, mildly bewildered.

“Uh — you didn’t need to wash it. I could have —”

“Nono! It’s cool! Just being a good host!” Lance holds a hand up, waving it a little for emphasis. The dude only quirks an eyebrow. “Hereyago,” he says, dropping it into the guy’s hand. 

“Thanks?” He furrows his brow. “I got it online. On pink-cherry, probably.”

“Oh, cool. I, uh, almost got a fleshlight there once.” Lance freezes. That — that wasn’t supposed to come out of his mouth. _Shit_. He’s probably made it weird.

“Cool?” The guy shrugs again and, okay, he honestly looks more confused than weirded out. Which is fair, Lance supposes, given that this probably isn’t the kind of conversation one normally has post anonymous hook up. He doesn’t do this often for exactly two reasons: the whole unpredictable pelvic pain thing and also because he likes getting chatty afterward, whereas most guys seem to have places they need to be. Especially in the afternoon, his preferred time for sex. But not talking afterward isn’t really Lance’s style, in all honesty. He’s not great at hitting it and quitting it. 

Maybe he should stick to not-guys from not-Grindr for a while. They’re usually easier to chat with afterward, and it’s not like he can squash that impulse. It’s ingrained in him — just like being an exceptional host. 

“So, do you want a coffee? Some water? I might have apple juice —”

“Nah, I gotta go to bed. Thanks.” The dude picks up his jacket and heads out of the bedroom. Lance startles a moment, checking his clock because _what the hell?_ Either they somehow had sex for eight hours without realizing it or this dude is —

“Bed?!” Lance says, following him out into the hall. “It’s like, noon!”

“Weird sleep schedule,” the dude mumbles, pulling on his tattered black sneakers. He shrugs again, giving Lance an awkward wave. “Bye?”

“See ya,” Lance says, hoping his face doesn’t betray his absolute confusion. This guy is… _interesting_ , to say the least. “Goodnight?”

“Yeah,” Grindr dude mutters, before heading through the front door and out of Lance’s life forever. 

_Huh._ Lance furrows his brow. He walks over to Pidge’s room and knocks.

“Come in!”

He opens the door, frowning. She lowers her headphones and raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I like Grindr hookups.”

“You say that literally every time. Was he cool, at least?”

“He was fine.” Lance shrugs. “The sex part was great, honestly. But he was kinda weird. He had a mullet and he said he needed to go to bed? Cause he has a weird sleep schedule?”

“Aaand lemme guess — he wasn’t chatty afterward?”

“No!” Lance pouts. “I mean, isn’t it normal to talk afterward? Like, I was _inside_ —”

“Nope, no, cutting you off right there.” She waves a hand. “These guys aren’t on Grindr ‘cause they want _stimulating conversation_ , Lance. That’s not how it works. Use Bumble or Tinder or whatever, if you want that.”

“I dunno,” Lance says, knitting his brows together. “I think I’m better at picking people up in person.”

“You probably are. You’re like, surprisingly good at that when you want to be.” She smiles at him. “And then you can flex your conversational prowess and it won’t be out of place.”

“True.” He purses his lips. “Cool, I’m gonna go delete Grindr.” He turns, walking back to his room.

“Have fun!” Pidge calls after him. When Lance gets to his phone, he takes a final look at the dude’s profile — at his screen name (only the letter “K”), his display picture (a mirror selfie in what appears to be a barely-furnished bedroom), and his location (800m away). Lance frowns, hoping that they don’t run into each other at the grocery store anytime soon. He deletes the app.

* * *

_**2 Years Later** _

Lance is stood on the sidewalk, staring at the sign to the rock gym for the first time in three, maybe four years. He’s not counting because he doesn’t really want to — it’s been a _while_ , honestly, and he’s not exactly proud of it. He definitely wouldn’t be here if Pidge hadn’t dragged him, fed up with listening to him complain about how he abandoned all of his beloved hobbies and doesn’t know what to do with his time. He supposes he’s lucky she got into bouldering recently — it’s given him a reason to start up again. Sometimes all you need is that first push.

He’ll try it once, and see what happens. He’s lived and learned a whole lot the past few years, and he’s got all the stretches and exercises and good and bad foods memorized. His doctor is on board, too, which is a relief. He just hopes his bladder will be too. 

“You coming in?” Pidge quirks an eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Yeah, right behind you.”

They step inside, pausing a moment to stare up at the large wall on the ground floor. The gym has two stories in a split-level, open concept sort of configuration. He can see up to the second floor from the entrance, and notes how there are only a couple people climbing the shorter wall. Relieved that few people will be around to witness how bad he’ll suck, he takes off his shoes.

Pidge is already speaking to the woman at the desk, reciting her last name. Lance walks up behind her, cautiously.

“Hello! Do you have a membership with us?” She smiles up at him.

“I used to? But I, uh, haven’t had one in a while.”

“Alright,” she says. “Let me see if I can find your file. Last name?”

“Espinosa.”

Her fingers drum on the keyboard as she searches the screen with pursed lips. She’s really gorgeous, honestly, but also _very_ married, judging by the rock on her left hand and the toddler bouncing in her lap. She seems familiar — she could have been working here, back when he used to come all the time. She might have changed something, like her hair, though. He feels like he would remember a woman with dark skin, bright turquoise eyes, platinum hair and a british accent. It’s a pretty unique combination.

“Lance? Lance Espinosa?

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Okay, it seems that you haven’t paid for a membership since 2016?”

Lance cringes. “Yep. Heh, don’t remind me.”

She chuckles. “No worries at all. It’s good to have you back, Lance. What kind of pass will you be getting?”

“A da —”

“He’ll be getting a month, thank you.” Pidge smirks, pushing her glasses up her nose.

The desk lady raises an eyebrow, looking at him.

He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll get a month.”

“Splendid! Here’s the waver. Will you be paying with cash or card?”

. . .

Turns out, Lance doesn’t suck. That much. He’s got the muscle memory somewhat down, but his body seems to fatigue quicker than he remembers, despite all the pull ups he tries to do at home. Pidge insists that his movements look great — she’s only been climbing a couple months, and she’s still learning all the hip rotation stuff. It takes a while for that to become natural, Lance remembers. Thankfully, he didn’t forget all of it after his long-ass break. 

After only half an hour, his hands are fucking _burning_. His callouses have completely disappeared, and he cringes at the thought of climbing for the next _month_ while building them up again. He’s gonna get flappers. He knows it. It’s gonna _suuuck_. He hasn’t even started trying the higher-grade problems yet — sticking to the easiest ones to avoid doing something stupid to his pelvic girdle. He figured he’d do all the green ones as a warm up, but some of them took more out of him than he anticipated. They’re on the big wall, sure, but still. He kind of expected more from himself. 

“Daaaaang,” Pidge says, after Lance tops a route on the overhang. “I can barely move at all in that section. That looked really sweet!”

He frowns, catching his breath and walking off the mat. “Yeah, I dunno, they used to be way easier.”

“You can’t compare yourself to back then. This is literally your _first_ time since taking a long break. You’re doing great!” She grins, giving him a fist bump before grabbing her chalk bag and coating her hands. 

“Pidge? Hey!” 

They both turn at the sound of the voice, greeted with a pair of guys carrying their gym bags. They’re both tall, but the guy in front is taller. He’s got dark hair with a shock of white at the front, and judging by how he’s filling out his jacket, he must be _very_ built.

“Hey!” Pidge grins up at them. “Lance, this is Shiro and Keith. They’re friends with Matt. Guys, this is Lance, my roommate.”

“Hey,” Lance supplies. He gets up and offers built guy a hand. 

“Shiro,” the guy says, taking it. When he shakes it, Lance notices that Shiro’s hand definitely does _not_ feel like an average, flesh and bone hand. He looks down, noticing that the guy’s wearing a prosthetic. _Huh._ Lance wonders if he climbs with it. “Nice to meet you, Lance.”

Shiro steps aside, and the other dude — _Keith_ — steps forward. And —

_Oh. Oh fuck._

“Hey man,” Keith says, apparently unfazed by Lance’s wide eyes and slightly gaping mouth. He shakes his hand, firmly, and Lance feels his tongue dry up and shrivel in his throat. He’s not entirely sure how Keith is acting so goddamn composed, as if they hadn’t _definitely_ had sex one time.

“Uh,” he manages eloquently.

“We’ll be back down in a bit,” Shiro says. “See you?”

“Sure thing!” Pidge pipes up. She returns to chalking up her hands as they walk up the stairs. She starts side-eyeing him after a moment. Lance must still be looking at them funny.

“You good?”

He whips his head toward her, gaping. “What the hell, Pidge?!”

“What?” she asks, innocently. 

“How the fuck do you know mullet guy?”

“You mean Keith?” she raises an eyebrow. “He’s friends with my brother? I hang out with him sometimes? And he grew out his mullet a while ago —” she pauses, brow furrowing. “How do _you_ know Keith had a mullet?”

“ _Cause we FUCKED, PIDGE!_ , Lance aggressively hisses at her, leaning into her space.

Pidge’s face does a lot of things. It contorts from confusion, to understanding, to absolute elation in about one second flat. She starts cackling maniacally, clutching at her abdomen.

“Shhhhhh, _stop it!_ ”

“Oh my GOD,” she sputters between laughs. “You banged KEITH? When?!”

“Like, a couple years ago, I dunno. It was a Grindr thing.”

This only makes her laugh harder, wiping at her eyes under her glasses. Lance grips her shoulders. 

“Stop! This is SERIOUS!”

“I’ve been telling you about him for years! How did this happen?”

“Wait how —” Lance furrows his brow, running through all the names Pidge usually drops when she’s gossiping about Matt’s friends. He pauses, eyes widening in sudden understanding. “Wait wait, that was _Cryptid Keith_?”

“Yep! Ffffffff —” Pidge keels over onto the bench, descending into cacophonous laughs once again.

Lance sits next to her, burying his fingers in his hair. It’s not like Pidge has told him a whole _lot_ about the dude, just that he’s got weird, niche interests and believes in aliens and ghosts and bigfoot and stuff. They’re not super close, but sometimes they smoke weed together and watch UFO videos. Lance always found it weird that Pidge enjoyed that kind of thing, especially given how enamoured she is with the scientific method. But she also likes debate, considering it one of the highest forms of socialization. Maybe that’s their thing. 

Still though, this isn’t exactly distracting him from the fact that he actually had sex with _Cryptid Keith_ and somehow didn’t realize it until now. And why was Keith so nonchalant about the whole thing? He literally didn’t look like he’d remembered ever _seeing_ Lance before. 

Of course this would happen the day he decides to take up bouldering again. 

“What do I even do, Pidge? What do I say to him?”

“I don’t know, buddy,” she sighs, a wide grin still plastered on her face. “Just be cool? It’s not a big deal. We’re just climbing.”

“How is it not a big deal?!”

“Because it’s not! He’s chill, he won’t be weird about it as long as you’re not. It’ll be fiiine.” She nudges his shoulder with hers, smiling up at him sympathetically. “Besides, I’ve been wanting you to meet Matt’s friends for a while, they’re good people.”

Lance sighs dramatically before breaking into a small smile. “Okay. Fine. I won’t be weird.”

“Great! Now lemme climb this thing.”

. . .

Okay, so Lance was, in all honesty, definitely _not_ trying to be weird. Everything was fine at first — Keith and Shiro joined them at the big wall after their stretches, and they made idle conversation. Lance really thought it might be okay. Up until it all went South.

See, Lance has always been more of a cautious climber. He prefers to climb statically (doing dynos has always been a recipe for accientally ramming his fists into volumes, in his experience) and prefers to avoid falling by downclimbing after he finishes. He doesn’t take many risks, opting instead to attempt problems many times to find a solution, rather than throwing himself into it without thinking. And it has always worked for him — at age 20, right before “ _the incident_ ”, he’d been climbing for six years and bouldering for three. And he was _good_. Not like, professional-level good but decent enough to top V6s and attempt V7s. He didn’t really have a set training program, but he was young and tall, strong and nimble, and it worked out for him. 

He cared about technique, is all. He spent a long time watching YouTube videos and perfecting his posture, trying to climb with efficiency and control. 

Which was why Keith’s climbing made him so fucking mad. 

The dude literally just bounded up to the wall, got on the starting holds for a fraction of a second and _leaped_ up the overhang, skipping some holds in the process. Pidge had nudged Lance afterward, whispering at him not to squawk (he did _not_ squawk), but he honestly couldn’t help his shock. 

Keith is the _exact_ kind of climbing dude that Lance had grown to hate. He takes too many risks, uses dynamic moves when he doesn’t even _need_ to, and makes a lot of noise. He exhales and huffs and grunts super loud, drawing more attention to himself as if climbing like a fucking maniac wasn’t enough. And the worst part, was that _this_ was the exact kind of climbing that impressed people, because it was more entertaining to watch than static climbing. It’s showy and flashy and utterly _substanceless_ , because any strong, athletic dude with good hand-eye coordination could probably figure it out easily. 

And on top of all that, he has a man-bun AND a fucking sleeve of tattoos. It's like he's _trying_ to be a stereotype.

Keith did complete the routes, though. Which, Lance supposes, is the entire point of this sport. So he’ll give him that. But he’s still not impressed. Quite the opposite, actually, he is decidedly _unimpressed_.

“Damn, Keith’s really good, eh?” Pidge says, as if that’s not fucking devastating. Lance has been utterly betrayed, and by one of his best friends no less. He makes a mental note to hide her Oreos later. 

Keith jumps down from the top (of course he does, as if a guy like that would even _try_ downclimbing), and fist bumps Shiro before taking a seat. 

Lance crosses his arms, huffing. “I’ve seen better. I’ve _done_ better,” he mutters.

“Sure you have,” Pidge mumbles back. She smirks at him. He’s happy Shiro and Keith are so close by, because he’d probably give her a fucking earful otherwise. Unfortunately, he’s got a cool, collected image to uphold. 

Shiro approaches the wall next, and… _damn_ , okay. Colour Lance impressed. 

Dude’s got near-perfect technique, despite the fact that he’s got no arm starting just above where his right elbow would be. He’s clearly been doing this a while. He mostly doesn’t use his right arm, but sometimes braces it against holds or against the wall for balance. It’s interesting — Lance never really considered how an amputee would climb, but he supposes anything is possible. 

It’s not like he’s climbing a super hard problem — but he is climbing almost perfectly. He only uses dynamic moves where he needs to, and is otherwise cautious and controlled. Why the fuck does he even associate with Keith, then? How can he even stand watching him?

When Lance moves up to the wall after Shiro finishes, he takes a moment to observe the problem he’s looking at. It’s a green one — probably a V1, as it looks a little tougher than most greens — and the holds are a little sand-papery, which might not bode well for his already chafed hands. It’s the only green problem he hasn’t topped on the wall, though, so he figures he’ll give it a shot. 

The moment his chalked hands make contact with the holds, he feels a lot less confident. Once he’s on the wall, the burning in his digits dials up to _eleven_ and he hisses, letting go to bounce on the mat below. _What the fuck?_ He knits his brows together, looking at his hands, and sure enough — yep, he’s got a flapper. Great. 

If this were a few years ago, he’d probably tape it and keep going. But he’s already been here for the better part of an hour, and he figures it’s an okay time to call it quits. 

Ambling off the mat, he makes his way over to their group and takes Pidge’s tape. “Got a flapper, I think I’m done for today.”

“Cool! I’m almost done too, I think,” Pidge says as she grabs her chalk bag. Once she makes her way to the wall, Keith turns around to face Lance. 

“First time?”

And okay. _Okay. What the actual FUCK?_

“No it’s not my first time,” Lance snaps, probably more bitter than he intended. Oh well. You know what? Fuck Keith. “I actually started climbing when I was fourteen, thanks.”

“Oh,” Keith says, eyebrows raised because guy actually has the fucking audacity to look _surprised_. “I just figured —”

“Yeah well, nope.” He looks away. He knows he’s being petty, alright? But he really didn’t want to deal with this kind of bullshit on his first day back. “I took a long… break. But I started up again,” me mutters, figuring he must at least owe Keith some kind of justification for his piss-poor performance right there. 

“Oh, cool.” Keith looks back at the wall, apparently unfazed. 

Lance could let it go. He really could. But his curiosity, like fucking usual, is getting the better of him. 

“What about you? When did you start?”

“Like, October? Around Thanksgiving, I think,” Keith responds casually, not looking at him. He shrugs.

 _What_. 

“What?!” Lance shrieks. “That’s, like — six months ago!”

“Yeah?” Keith’s facing him again, his expression painfully neutral. 

“Wha — HOW?!” Lance gapes, eyes like saucers. 

“I dunno, I’ve been into sports for a while so I was already in decent shape when I started,” Keith says, conversationally. 

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Ohoo I’m in shape too, buddy,” Lance responds, rolling his eyes. 

“Um… did I say something? I don’t — ”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lance huffs. Before he can get another earful of Keith’s bragging, he gets up, snags his chalk bag and walks up to the second floor to stretch. 

So, Keith’s a dick, Lance decides. Because not only did he have the nerve to judge Lance’s climbing, he felt the need to tout his fitness level as well. And on top of all that, he _still_ hasn’t given any indication that he even remembers Lance at all. 

Lance considers himself a memorable dude — he’s only heard good things from his previous partners regarding the things he can actually control. He’s done the whole song and dance of juggling sex and chronic pain and he likes to think it’s made him an attentive partner. He makes an effort, is all he’s saying. 

Plus, from what he remembers, the sex was great! It was exactly what you want from a one-time hook up. And he washed Keith’s fucking _buttplug_ like a _gentleman_ , for crying out loud. 

So it’s honestly kind of shitty that Keith is acting like all of that never happened, you know? 

“Hey, uh —”

Lance looks up from where he’s seated and stretching his forearms, greeted with the sight of Keith towering over him. Something about his expression looks kind of like a kicked puppy, and it’s kind of _cute_ and Keith has absolutely no right to look like that, especially right now. 

“Can I help you?”

“Look, I just —” Keith sighs, running a hand through the shaggy strands of hair framing his face that somehow didn’t make it up into his stupid man-bun. “If I said something that made you mad, I’m really sorry —”

“Do you seriously not remember me?” 

So, there it is. Lance figures that if they’re gonna do this, they might as well get it all out there. He honestly can’t handle another moment of not knowing, really. 

“What?” Keith furrows his brow, making a genuine effort to maintain eye contact.

“Do you?” Lance pleads, this time a little more desperate. 

“I don’t — we haven’t met before, have we?” 

Okay. 

Well, then. 

_Great_.

“Yes we HAVE, KEITH! We have “met” before!” Lance all but yells, using air quotes for emphasis. 

“When?” 

“We met through _Grindr_ ,” Lance spits through gritted teeth, arms flailing. He is seriously trying not to alert anyone at the gym of their argument, but he’s not exactly a master in subtlety. “We hooked up in my apartment! Like, two years ago!”

“Oh,” Keith squints. “Sorry, I, uh, don’t remember everyone I’ve ever —”

“Oh, do that often, then, do you?” Lance seethes. He knows it’s mean, and kinda wrong to stoop to that level, but he’s feeling petty and bitter and forgotten and being mean is all he really has left right now. 

“I mean, no not really.” Keith frowns. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, whatever. I’m stretching, so…”

“Wait —” Keith squints again. He takes a moment, before his eyes light up in realization. “You were the guy that washed my buttplug?”

And — okay, at least his good deed is finally being recognized. Lance will give him that. 

“Yeah, that was kinda weird,” Keith adds. 

Okay, fuck this guy. 

“I’m leaving.” Lance gets up and rolls his shoulders, before exhaling loudly and grabbing his shoes and chalk. He doesn’t give Keith a second glance, because his Mamá had ingrained in him that walking away was better than exploding all over the place. And they’re in public. They’re at a fucking climbing gym. And he’s not having this conversation here for one more second.

Also, he’s getting that telltale ache in his lower abdomen that might probably be phantom pains, but also might be an incoming stress flare thanks to Cryptid Keith’s fucking attitude, and he’s not gonna pee fire for a week because of one asshole. No siree. 

Lance is gonna go home, take a salt bath, and ask Hunk to bring him white chocolate from work. He’s going to have a _good_ afternoon.

Keith hasn’t actually moved from his spot by the time Lance circles back with his bag. He’s sort of just staring at him, all dumbfounded and kind of terrified, and Lance tires not to think too hard about it. Sure, this might not be one of his finer moments. But _Keith_ is the one who forgot. He’s the asshole here.

“I’m going,” Lance says to Pidge, interrupting whatever conversation she’s having with Shiro. She jumps up without a second thought, and he can hear her bolting up the stairs. 

He’s nearly two blocks away by the time she catches up with him. 

“What — what the hell happened?” she wheezes, tugging at his sleeve. 

“Your friend is a dick,” Lance mutters, not letting up. He keeps walking at a brisk pace, until they’re forced to stop for a car at the intersection.

“Nope, no no no. Lance, STOP. You’re doing the thing!”

“I’m not doing the thing!”

“You’re doing the thing where you’re projecting! You’re mad ‘cause he was better than you at climbing!”

“Okay, OW!” Lance spins on his heel, facing her. He holds up a finger. “First of all, that wasn’t climbing! That was _parkour._ ”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Okay.”

“Second,” he holds up another finger, “he forgot about me! He didn’t even remember who I was.”

His voice cracks when he says it. He didn’t really mean it to, but it happened and there’s no going back. Lance drops his hand in defeat and clutches at the straps of his drawstring bag. 

See, Lance remembers every person he’s ever been with — which might not be saying much because it’s not all that many people, really. He remembers all the people he’s wanted but never been with, too. And as much as he doesn’t want it to be, as much as he likes pretending not to care, sex isn’t something that he takes lightly. Because for him, when it’s good, it’s a fucking blessing. And when it’s not good, it’s _awful_. 

There are only three people in the whole world who know and understand the full extent of this. There’s Hunk, there’s a person he doesn’t even speak to anymore, and there’s Pidge.

She doesn’t even say anything. She just nods. She gets it, and he knows she gets it. 

So she hugs him, and he hugs back, chin hooking over her head. He squeezes a little tighter, reminding himself of how Pidge and Hunk are absolute angels who were there for him when he was barely himself. And he breathes, letting some of the tension out and reminding himself that it’s not worth getting so stressed out over one dumb guy he barely even knows. 

“How’re you feeling?” Pidge asks when they break apart. 

“I’m good, I’m okay.” He smiles at her, ruffling her hair a little. She groans, swatting at his arms. 

“Can you _not_ —”

And just like that, things are sort of back to normal. Lance hums as they walk, trying not to think about how he just bought a literal month pass to the gym — which means risking running into Keith _again_. It was also expensive, so he can’t really back out. 

“Was it always that expensive?” Lance says after a moment. “How the hell did I afford that as a teenager?”

Pidge shrugs. “If you get auto deposit, it’s a lot less. And Coran gives people half-off if they help him clean the gym every week.”

“Huh,” Lance purses his lips.

“You’d love Coran,” Pidge adds, nudging him. “He’s a big talker.”

Lance smirks. “Might not be a bad idea.”

They walk in silence a little longer. Lance thankfully remembers to text Hunk about the white chocolate (he insists it’s cool, his work always has extra). Lance is just starting to forget about it all, just starting to get comfortable, when —

“He’s not a bad guy, you know.”

“What?”

“Keith, I mean.”

“Uuuuuugh.” Lance stops walking, sagging his shoulders and looking at her. “I don’t wanna talk about him.”

“Seriously though, hear me out! Just a sec.”

Lance crosses his arms. He raises an eyebrow. That’s all he’s giving her.

“He’s not amazing with people, but he tries really hard. It’s a whole thing, okay? He’s probably down on himself right now, too. So just… give him a chance. I always thought you guys would get along.”

He huffs, squinting at her. “I’m not making any promises.”

“Just… just trust me.”

~~~

“What happened?”

Keith sighs, swirling his cold brew in its glass. He’s barely said a word since they left the gym, and he knows Shiro’s probably jumping to conclusions. To be honest, none of it makes sense to him at all.

“I don’t know. He just got mad at me outta nowhere.” Keith frowns, taking a sip from his straw.

“People don’t usually get mad for no reason, Keith.”

“You’re doing the dad thing again. Shiro, I’m twenty-five!”

Shiro cringes, eyes widening. “You’re right, sorry bud.”

“Thanks,” Keith grumbles. 

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, though Keith can’t help but notice that Shiro looks increasingly impatient and uncomfortable. He’s nosy, and not knowing things makes him want to explode. Keith knows this because they’ve known each other a long time, and as much as he _tries_ to avoid his problems like a self-respecting adult, Shiro’s always got a way of prying them out of him. 

“Okay, fine.”

Shiro jumps, turning toward him like some sort of desperate housewife. He looks way too eager. 

“We slept together and I kinda… Didn’t remember him. At first.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. He whistles. 

“Okay, but like, do YOU remember every person you’ve ever hooked up with once?”

“I haven’t been single since 2010, Keith.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Shiro laughs, taking a sip of his latte. He shakes his head. “At first? So, you do remember him?”

“Well, yeah. Now I do.” Keith furrows his brow, staring at his coffee. “He cleaned my buttplug for me afterward. It was kind of a first.”

“Damn, chivalry isn’t dead.”

Keith scoffs. “I dunno, isn’t that, like, weird?”

“No, not really.” Shiro shrugs. “I mean, it’s kind of extra but it’s a nice favour.”

That’s… that’s a fair point. 

“Okay, I’m an asshole,” Keith decides. “But he was also kind of a dick, too.”

“Aww, you’re meant for each other!”

“Shut up.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Shiro leans forward, smirking. “You’re already bickering like an old couple.”

“I don’t — Shiro, what the — STOP!” Keith gapes at him as he descends into chuckles. “I don’t know him! Oh my god…” He runs a hand down his face. Shiro’s always got two moods when it comes to getting Keith to talk about his problems. He’s either way too serious about it, offering up wise words that Keith doesn’t want to hear, or he just laughs at him. He honestly kind of prefers the latter. It gets him out of his own head. 

“I’m probably gonna see him again,” Keith mumbles. He knits his brows together. 

“And, what are you gonna do?”

“Apologize, probably.” 

“And?”

Keith looks at him, puzzled. “And… I don’t know? Avoid him?”

“Alright,” Shiro shrugs, the ghost of a knowing smirk on his face. 

Keith scowls. “What the — what are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Shiro raises his hands up, innocently. “I was just thinking, you could probably learn a thing or two from him. Pidge said he’s been climbing a long time. He probably knows things I don’t, so…”

Keith narrows his eyes. “So, what?”

“Maybe he’ll give you some pointers on how to _not_ climb like you’re gunning for another concussion?” Shiro purses his lips, looking away. He looks smug as hell. 

Keith tenses. He knows Shiro’s kinda right, and he doesn’t want to put him through the nightmare that was taking care of Keith's post-concussion self again. He took up climbing to avoid that all together, anyway. 

“Maybe,” Keith mumbles. He finishes up his coffee, making slurpy noises through the straw. “I’ll think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance's condition is called interstitial cystitis. Its a chronic bladder pain condition that is more commonly diagnosed in people with uteruses, though people with penises can have it too and are often misdiagnosed as having something else. It can cause flare ups that feel a lot like a UTI, and they need to be managed by avoiding trigger foods (mostly acidic stuff) and physical therapy. In worse cases, medication or surgery might be needed. Flares can be exacerbated by stress, food, sex, muscle strain from exercise, biking, and other things. Sometimes IC can also cause random stabbing pains that go away as soon as they come. With proper management, symptoms can go into remission and trigger foods might not do any damage for a period of time. But it's a lifelong condition, and there is no cure.
> 
> Also, bouldering is actually considered a high-impact sport and there is still a risk of concussion! It's just a lower risk than kickboxing and muay thai, which were Keith's preferred sports before. It depends on how you climb, too - if you're a cautious climber like Lance, your risk is lowered even further.
> 
> Glossary of climbing terms (in order of appearance except "problem" is first cause it's necessary to understand other terms)  
>  **problem** : the path of holds a climber must take to complete a climb (called a "route" in rope climbing)  
> top (or topping): to successfully finish a problem/route (also called "sending" though I'm less used to that term)  
>  **overhang** : a problem situated on wall that leans forward at an angle  
> static climbing: where you maintain 3 points of contact on the wall when climbing and don't rely on momentum  
>  **dynamic climbing (or dynos)** : moves where climbers use momentum to grab holds that are out of reach, where one or both feet leave the wall. Opposite of climbing statically  
>  **volumes** : large, prism-shaped features that are attached to the wall. They are generally considered to be extensions of the wall, and can be used as holds when climbing a problem.  
>  **downclimbing** : climbing downwards instead of jumping off the wall - a safer way to end a climb  
> holds: basically rocks you hold onto. small holds meant for your feet are called "footholds"  
> flapper: a hand injury consisting of a loose piece of skin where callouses are forming. climbers twill typically use tape to cover them  
>  **"V"-grade** : a technical grading system for classifying the difficulty of bouldering problems. problems range from V0 to V8 and beyond, though anything upwards of V4-5 can be considered quite challenging, and meant for experienced climbers only. but the grades are pretty relative, and subject to the person setting the problem.  
> At my gym (and the gym in this fic), problems are colour coded according to their difficulty:  
> \- V0-V1: green  
> \- V2-V3: yellow  
> \- V4-V5: orange  
> \- V6-V7: blue  
> \- V8-V9: red


	2. Burying the Hatchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things end up going pretty well after that first session. Lance doesn’t get a flare, he doesn’t see Keith the next few times he goes to the gym, and he honestly starts feeling like he’s not sucking. Sure, his hands look like someone took a fucking cheese grater to them but — okay, they’re not that bad. They’re just looking a little rough around the edges, but it’s nothing a little tape can’t fix."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy welcome BACK to the WALL (hahhaaha kill me)
> 
> To be quite honest, I did not anticipate how well the first chapter did. I've never had this many people read a first chapter of mine before, so I just want to say welcome to my corner of this internet hellscape. I hope you enjoy your stay!!! <3
> 
> We're back with more bouldering and bladder pain and mentions of buttplugs and urine because I'm a mature adult and this is a "Mature" fic. Thank you in advance for reading, and I hope you're having a lovely weekend. As usual, there will be a glossary of unfamiliar terms at the end! There are only two in this chapter, I think, but if I miss one lmk!

“HUUUUNK! I made an enemy!” Lance announces, parading through the hall. Pidge groans behind him, shutting the front door. 

“Hunk isn’t home yet, you literally texted him at work ten minutes ago.”

“Oh,” Lance says, stopping in his tracks. “Right.” He swears he took his meds today, which means that he can’t pawn off this blunder on his ADHD and needs to take full responsibility. Damn, that’s embarrassing.

“Did you take your —”

“Yes I did. Shhh.” Lance stomps over to his room, putting his climbing bag by the bed and flopping back onto the mattress. He furrows his brow, hyper-aware of his pelvic girdle and trying to distinguish whether the mild discomfort is due to exercise or an oncoming flare. He really shouldn’t dwell too hard, and needs to find something to do until Hunk comes home with the chocolate. 

“PIIIDGE?!”

“What?!” he hears through the wall.

“Can you entertain me!?

“No!”

He jumps out of bed, racing over to her open door. 

“Please?”

Pidge spins around to face him in her desk chair, like a supervillain. “I just entertained you for, like, two hours! I have shit to do!”

“It’s _Friday_!”

“Okay, fine, you can hang out with me until Hunk gets home, and then I need to —”

As if on cue, Lance hears the telltale sound of Hunk coming up the front stairwell. He knows his friends by their gait. Lance is kinda proud of that, honestly. 

“Well thank fuck,” Pidge mutters, turning back around. Hunk’s barely opened the door by the time Lance reaches the hallway.

“Hey, Lance!”

“I made an ENEMY!”

“Ohooo who is it this time?” Hunk asks, unfazed. Lance may or may not make a new enemy every couple weeks. 

“It’s Cryptid Keith!”

“Wait, what?” Hunk looks up from where he’s untying his sneakers. “Like, Pidge and Matt’s friend?”

“Yeah, he’s a dick!”

Hunk eyes him skeptically. He sighs, grabbing his backpack and making his way down the hall to the kitchen, passing right in front of Lance and not saying a single word. 

“What?! He is!”

“Sure he is.”

“He was super rude and he climbs like a maniac,” Lance elaborates, trailing behind Hunk like a puppy. “He didn’t even remember me!”

“From when?” Hunk asks, unloading some bread loves and white chocolate chips onto the counter. 

“From when we had sex!”

“Wait, WHAT?!”

“Oh, right, yeah. So, I had sex with Cryptid Keith, apparently.”

“Wha —” Hunk looks at him like he’s grown antlers. “What do you mean, _apparently_?”

“It was like, two years ago, not a big deal. Anyway, so —”

“Lance, pause, stop!” Hunk yells, waving his arms around. “I’m getting confused with the order of operations. Let’s go chronologically, and only the important stuff.”

Lance exhales, rolling his eyes. “Okay, so, two years ago I have sex with Cryptid Keith. Except I don’t know it’s him ‘cause it’s a Grindr thing. So, after, I clean his buttplug —”

“Wha — how does that qualify as ‘important’?”

“It is! You’ll seee! Anyway, so he thought it was weird, but I was just being a good host, you know? Then I don’t see him since then until TODAY, when Pidge and I go climbing.”

Hunk nods, seriously. 

“So THEN I see him climb. And it’s, like — fucking nuts. He climbs like Tomoa Narasaki snorted coke and stopped caring about his own safety.”

“Lance, that… that makes absolutely no sense to me.”

“Wha — Hunk!” Lance gasps, betrayed. He totally thought Hunk paid attention during the bouldering final livestreams he forces him to watch. 

“Which one was Tomoa Nagasaki?”

“ _Narasaki_ , Hunk. He’s Japanese guy that does all the jumping.”

“Okay, sure, go on.” 

“So when I try climbing, I’m obviously tired and my hands are shot ‘cause we’ve been there a while. And I just get on the wall and fall off and get a flapper.”

Hunk cringes. “Ow, that sucks man.”

“And then he asks me if it’s my first time!”

Hunk gasps. “Ohooo roaste — rude!”

“Right?! And the whole time he hasn’t said anything about remembering me from anywhere. So I get pissed, and I leave to stretch, and he comes up to me and straight up asks me why I’m pissed. So I tell him! And he says has no clue who I am, at first. But then he’s like, ‘ooh right, you washed my buttplug, that was weird’.”

“And then?”

“That’s it. I stormed off.”

Hunk frowns. “That — that really sucks. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance croaks. See, he’d tried to tell the whole story as casually as possible. But Hunk is kinda good at seeing right through him. “It’s cool, Pidge made me feel better.”

“Okay, good.” Hunk squints, pursing his lips. “So, if you don’t mind me saying this, you sure that maybe… you might not have made some assumptions? Like, jumped to conclusions? About Keith?”

Lance frowns. He doesn’t say anything. 

“‘Cause, if he’s friends with Matt and Pidge, I’m not really buying that he’s a dick. Even if he kinda acted like one.”

“Okay, well, I’ve had enough talking about Keith for one day.”

“You brought him up!”

“I’m gonna eat some chocolate and take a bath.” Lance picks up the half-litre container of big white chocolate chips. He grins. “Did I mention you’re the best person ever, Hunk?”

Hunk puffs out his chest, smiling. “No, you did not.”

“Well,” Lance starts, opening the container and popping one into his mouth. “You, sir, are the best person ever.”

. . .

Things end up going pretty well after that first session. Lance doesn’t get a flare, he doesn’t see Keith the next few times he goes to the gym, and he honestly starts feeling like he’s not sucking. Sure, his hands look like someone took a fucking cheese grater to them but — okay, they’re not _that_ bad. They’re just looking a little rough around the edges, but it’s nothing a little tape can’t fix. 

Of course, the minute his mother hears that Lance is climbing again, she uses it as an excuse to pawn Marco’s kids off on him, one fine Monday afternoon. Nadia and Sylvio have a PED-day and they were supposed to hang out with Lance’s Má, but she wanted to go to some sort of craft fair. So here he is, at the gym with Hunk and two children in tow, trying not to let their nimbleness and agility and natural aptitude for climbing up stuff remind him that his body isn’t what it used to be. 

It’s not that bad, really. Lance was a little worried that his brain would insist on comparing his ability to the kids’, but they’re honestly so impressed with even the easiest shit he does that he can’t really complain. It’s like having his own little personal cheerleaders and it’s honestly kind of _awesome_. He might ask Marco to do this again, soon. 

“TÍOOOO! Take a picture!”

Lance grins, whipping out his phone to snap a photo of Nadia at the top of the short wall. She waves, smiling her adorable gap-toothed grin. His heart does a little backflip. 

“Okay, can you flex?”

She takes one arm off the wall, showing him her guns. He grins, snapping a photo and sending it to the family group chat. 

Nadia jumps down the wall onto the mat, scurrying off to find her brother. Lance tries yelling at her about the importance of downclimbing, but she’s far too distracted by what looks like —

“TÍO! THERE’S A DOG!”

Oh, _sweet_. Lance fucking _loves_ when people bring their dogs to the gym. They’re usually super well behaved and chill (they’re not allowed inside, otherwise), and very receptive to pats.

“Oh my god, Lance, he’s the best dog!” Hunk calls out to him from the ground floor. He grins after him, bounding down the steps to take a look.

Sure enough, this dog literally looks like the _best_ dog. He’s a black and white akita and he’s all smiley, sitting down all nice and pretty and wagging his tail. Lance figures Hunk was responsible enough to ask his owner if pats were okay, so he dives right in. 

“His name is Kosmo,” a woman’s voice says above them. Lance looks up, greeted with the sight of a very tattooed, _very_ attractive woman that was definitely at least 10 years his senior. Lance always kinda sorta had a thing for people who look like they could kill him if they wanted to, but he’s also always been terrible at flirting with folks who are the slightest bit intimidating. So he doesn’t really say anything, opting to just smile at her and not look like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“He’s a beautiful dog,” Hunk says. 

“He’s my son’s dog, actually.” And, okay. The way she says it makes it sound like Kosmo is distinctly _not_ her dog, which means she must have an adult son? _How_? She must have had him when she was, like… young. Damn.

“Hope it’s okay that the kids are petting him,” Hunk adds.

“It’s fine, he loves kids,” another voice says over Lance’s head. And — wait. That sounded like —

He whips his head around, greeted with the sight of Keith staring down at him. Lance watches his face contort from pleasantly neutral to completely shocked in two seconds flat, and he hopes that his own face isn’t doing something equally telling. Because not only is he running into Keith while babysitting, he’s also meeting Keith’s _mom_ who is _unfairly hot_. 

Thing is, Lance is currently acting as guardian and role model. He can’t be a dick in front of the kids, and _especially_ not in front of Hunk, the purest soul in the world. He also doesn’t want to know what Keith’s mom would do to him if she saw him look at Keith sideways, so there’s that too. So his only option, really, is to tough it out. It’ll be fine. He can handle this. 

“Oh hey, man. How’s it going?” 

_Nice one, Lance._ Not even a shred of sarcasm in his voice. That’s one for the books. 

“You know each other?” Keith’s mother asks, and Lance takes sick satisfaction in watching Keith squirm, no doubt trying to find a way to explain this to her. 

“Uh,” Keith manages. Lance almost feels kinda bad for him. 

“Yeah, through Matt,” is all he says, figuring he’d end the torture right here. Keith’s mom seems satisfied with that, giving him a smile and a nod. “I’m Lance, by the way!” he gets up and extends a hand to her, grinning. He doesn’t miss how Keith twitches in the corner of his eye. 

Okay, so he’s not quite ready to end the torture. This is _kinda_ fun, is all he’s saying. 

“Krolia,” she answers politely, shaking his hand. Hunk exchanges introductions with them as well. He seems almost completely unfazed, but Lance catches the slight eyebrow raise he sends in his direction when he learns Keith’s name. Well, fuck. He’s been found out.

“We’re gonna take the kids for ice cream after,” Hunk says. “Would you guys want to join?” And okay, _what the fuck is he doing_? He looks at Hunk, trying to telepathically tell him to cut it out. Hunk just gazes back at him, laughing with his eyes. 

Forget what Lance said about Hunk being a pure soul. He’s the cruelest of all of them. 

Lance chances a glance at Keith, who’s looking more and more terrified by the second. Krolia doesn’t seem to notice.

“Sure, we were actually going to get gnocchi at the place next to the ice cream shop.”

“Ooooh that place is great!” Hunk pipes up. “They cook the gnocchi right in the tomato sauce!”

“Tia Veronica says Tío Lance can’t have tomatoes because it makes his pipi burn!”

“O-KAY,” Lance squawks, picking Sylvio up and throwing him over his shoulder. He’s trying to laugh it off, because talking about his urine is definitely _not_ on his to-do list today, especially not in front of Keith and his mother. He’s gonna need to have a talk with V, what the _hell_ was she thinking?

Keith and Krolia are looking at him now, a little bewildered. Hunk, on the other hand, looks like he’s fucking _living_ for this. He probably loves Sylvio even more now. 

“Yeah, uh, no gnocchi for me! Haha, c’mon buddy, let’s go UPSTAIRS!” Lance says, voice a little squeaky as he extricates himself and Sylvio

He carries him all the way over to the training area with the moonboard and mats, plopping him down gently. His nephew’s just grinning up at him, looking damn proud of himself. Lance squats down in front of him. 

“Okay, so, didn’t Papi tell you not to talk about my pipi in public?” Lance asks, trying his damndest to keep a straight face. Luckily, Sylvio seems to be listening to him.

He sighs. “Yeees. I’m sorry.”

Okay, wait. Lance’s question was kind of rhetorical. This somehow means that Marco actually _did_ have a chat with his kids about Tio Lance’s piss. Well... _great_. He has absolutely no fucking clue what to think about that. 

Lance knows he’s kind of an anomaly in his family. He comes from a culture of people that take pride in their food, passing recipes down from generation to generation. When Rachel went vegan, no one could wrap their head around it. They accommodated her, sure, but it was seen as _weird_ , and some relatives took offense when she refused their dishes. So when Lance had to cut out everything that would exacerbate flare ups, it was even harder to explain, especially since talking about his piss was something he definitely did _not_ want to do with Tia Abuela Mercedes. They just assumed he was a picky eater all of a sudden, which was decidedly _not true_. 

Lance suddenly finds himself missing his abuela. She had her own slew of weird pathologies before she passed away, and loved talking with him about their sensitive excretory systems. It was a strange, kinda cute thing they shared. And she never questioned him once, always telling him that his body was his own and that only he and his doctor knew what was best for it. What a gem that woman was. May she rest in peace. 

“Are you crying, Tío?”

Lance snaps out of it, sniffing and shaking his head. He may have forgotten to take his meds this morning, and his attention span is probably suffering for it. 

“Nope, not crying. Let’s get our stuff and go have ice cream with the dog and the nice people, okay? And no talking about pee!”

“Okaaaay.”

. . .

Turns out Keith is… not so terrible. He’s lactose intolerant, which is something Lance learns when he sees him pop some lactase before digging into heavily-parmed gnocchi. Lance has the utmost respect for people who love eating food that their body will punish them for afterward. It’s something he can relate to on a very personal level. 

The kids mostly hang out with the dog, and Hunk and Krolia do the majority of the talking. Lance has one eye on the conversation and one eye on the children, making sure they’re not torturing poor Kosmo and moving their hands away when they try to put their fingers in his ears. Keith is sort of silent but also oddly comfortable, having slowly zenned out since they left the gym. He probably caught that Lance wasn’t about to chew him out in front of his mother, so maybe that’s why. 

When Hunk starts talking about his job, Lance chimes in a bit. He worked at the same bakery as Hunk for a number of years before quitting to focus on grad school. They're actually having a pretty nice time, and he sort of forgets about the whole Keith drama for a bit. 

In fact, he manages to ignore him entirely for a few minutes, before turning around to check on the kids and seeing them huddled around Keith just like they were huddled around the dog before. That’s odd, Lance thinks, looking closer and noticing that they’re pointing at his tattoos and asking him about them. Huh. 

“What’s that?” Nadia says, trailing her finger along Keith’s forearm. 

“It’s a wolf,” Keith answers. It’s not noticeable at first glance, but he’s definitely smiling. That’s… interesting. 

“Why?”

Keith shrugs. “Wolves are cool, I like them.” 

Fair, honestly. Lance has a small tattoo of a shark on his shoulder because sharks are cool. 

Keith turns his forearm over, letting them look at the inside. 

“Do you have a knife because knives are cool, too?” Sylvio asks. 

Keith chuckles. “Yeah —”

“Uh, no no no, nope! Knives aren’t cool, kids! Sharp objects are bad!” Lance interjects, sitting next to them on the bench and putting Nadia in his lap. The last thing he wants is for Marco to hear about how Tío Lance’s friend thinks knives are cool. He figures he should vocalize disapproval so he’s got collateral if it’s brought up, you know? 

“But Keef is cool and he likes knives!” Nadia pouts. Keith smiles at her, clearly amused. 

“Knives are _not cool_. Don’t listen to Keith, he’s wrong. Go play with the dog.” He grabs Sylvio’s hand, dragging him around back to where Kosmo is lying on his back. The kids don't seem to care much, attention shifting and getting all excited about rubbing his belly. Lance exhales, wondering how parents do this all the fucking time. 

“Hey,” Keith mumbles, interrupting Lance’s train of thought before it derails completely once again. 

“Heyyy,” Lance responds, side-eyeing him. He’s still not exactly sure where they stand, but he’s definitely not prepared to hash it out with Keith’s mom and his own best friend nearby. That seems like a recipe for disaster. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, low enough that no one can hear them and leaning in a little to Lances side. “For not remembering, at first. I feel like an ass.”

“It’s fine,” Lance sighs. “Apology accepted.” Keith does something weird with his face, almost like he’s surprised that Lance acquiesced so quickly. Was he really that much of a dick that Keith thought he wouldn’t accept his apology?

“I’m sorry too for… being a dingus. For the record.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Dingus?”

Lance motions at the kids. “No swearing, Keith. Don’t want them picking up that shit from me.” He freezes. 

Keith stifles a laugh. “Oh, really?”

“Shhhh, that didn’t happen. Use your terrible memory to forget that one, kay?”

Keith actually laughs this time. It isn’t more than a couple chuckles, but Lance is sort of getting a sense that he’s not an uproarious laugh riot kinda guy. It’s… cute. 

This isn’t the first time that Lance notes how cute Keith can be. Which is weird, because he’s got tattoos and a mess of dark hair and his clothes are either black or ripped. He kinda reminds Lance of the metalheads in CEGEP that looked terrifying but were all mushy teddy bears once you got to know them. Now that he and Keith have sorta buried the hatchet, he’s a lot less angry about Keith being cute and a lot more… something else. But he’s not gonna dwell on that, because he’s not looking for that kind of thing right now. 

Lance swore off dating and sex a few months ago. Not permanently, just for the time being. It’s not a big deal, he’s just really _really_ tired of trying to balance his own needs with all the social expectations that come with going out with people. Dates mean coffee, or drinks, or food — which also means dealing with the whole explaining why he can’t consume certain things, or feeling peer-pressured and caving at his body’s expense. Sex means either settling for mediocre night-time romps when his meds have worn off and his head isn’t in it, or busting his ass scheduling a mid-day thing since he doesn’t use Grindr anymore. It also means the occasional need to stop everything all of a sudden because things are hurting too much. It’s a whole slew of issues that he’s been dealing with since he was fucking 20, which isn’t a _whole_ lot of time, but it’s enough to make him want a break. He’ll start up again when it’s time, maybe if he meets the right person. But he’s been in the game long enough to know that the “right person” isn’t just gonna show up in front of him one day, all ready to go. 

So yes, he’s going to ignore the sudden urge to rail Keith’s brains out. It’s gonna be hard, because he can sort of remember what _that_ looked liked, but he’s gonna try his best. He's gonna treat Keith like a decent human with absolutely zero ulterior motives, and he’s not gonna objectify him like his lizard brain wants to. 

Besides, they stopped being enemies, what, five seconds ago? Yeah, not the time to think about getting down and dirty.

“So, uh, we cool? Doesn’t have to be weird if we run into each other again?” Lance figures he might as well get verbal confirmation. He’s misread signs in the past. 

“Yeah, man.” Keith offers him a tentative smile. “We’re cool.”

. . .

“Soo, enemies, eh?”

“Shut up, Hunk.”

~~~

“I ran into Lance at the gym,” Keith says, tightening the screws on the seat of Shiro’s bike. He tries to play it off casually, but Shiro’s way too invested already.

“Oooh, what happened?” He raises his eyebrows, sipping his beer. 

“He was with a friend and his niece and nephew. They played with Kosmo, and Mom and I joined them for gnocchi and ice cream.”

Shiro stops, mid-sip. His eyes widen. “What?”

“Yeah,” Keith huffs, squinting at the bike frame. He grabs a rag and starts wiping it down.

“That’s… I didn’t expect _that_. Did it go okay?”

“It did. It was… actually pretty cool.” 

“Well, wow. Look at you.” Shiro crosses his arms. “You made a friend. Colour me impressed.”

“He’s not — we barely know each other. We just decided to be cool and not hate each other.”

“You must think he’s cute, though. You already slept together once.”

“Shiro, _stop_.” Keith drops the rag, feeling heat rise to his face. 

“I’m just saying, you went from hating each other to a family ice cream date in one afternoon. At this rate you’ll be writing your vows next time you see each other.”

“I’m not dating right now,” Keith says, tone firm and even. “You know this.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Shiro raises his hands up in defeat.

Keith sighs, sitting on his haunches and taking a sip of his own beer. He’s not mad at Shiro, he does see where he’s coming from. Keith’s been recovering for a while, and he’s been managing his symptoms pretty well. He doesn’t get migraines as much anymore, and will only be housebound maybe a day or two in a two-week period. It’s all remnants from one too many concussions. But this is probably thanks to his meds. Keith hates that he has to rely on them, still, after six months. He was hoping he’d have weaned off of them by now. 

To be honest, dating was barely even on his mind. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since he got concussed last, mainly because he didn’t have time for it. Which is okay. These things come and go in waves, and Keith’s used to it. 

Still, his apartment does feel especially _empty_ , even with Kosmo keeping him company. It’s been a while since he’s had Pidge and Matt over. Maybe he should do that. 

He should probably fix the hole he’d punched in his bedroom wall, first. It’s been half a year already. It’s about time. 

He sighs, standing up and taking one last look at Shiro’s bike. “She should be all good, now.”

Shiro takes out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Keith cringes. “No, I’m not charging. That’d be weird.”

“Keith,” Shiro starts, using his dad voice. “You’re a skilled professional and your work is valuable. It’s worth the money.”

“No, Shiro. Capitalism ruins relationships, leave me alone.” 

“Can’t argue with that, Tak.” Curtis’ voice carries over from inside the garage as he walks toward them, Adam following close behind. 

Upon seeing what they’re up to, Adam gasps. 

“Takashi, pay him!” he swats Shiro’s arm. “Don’t take advantage!”

“No. I refuse.” Keith crosses his arms, meeting Adam’s gaze. “It was a favour, and it took me like half an hour. Don’t make this weird.”

“You know, it’s unhealthy for personal relationships to be transactional,” Curtis says. “We can pay it forward.”

“At least let me buy you lunch.”

“Shiro, you always buy me lunch as if I don’t have a job.”

“Okay, then. Let me buy you _and_ Lance lunch.”

Adam audibly gasps. He and Curtis look at Keith in visible shock while Shiro crosses his arms, looking absolutely pleased with himself. The bastard. 

“Who’s _Lance_?”

“He’s a… “friend” of Keith’s.”

Keith can hear the air quotes in his voice. 

“Please stop.”

“We should invite him over for dinner.”

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

“Keith, does he have any dietary restrictions?”

“Oh my god, STOP! Just because you’ve been in a triad for five years, or whatever, doesn’t mean I can’t be happy on my own, okay? I don’t know Lance, we’re not friends, and I’m not seeing anyone right now or anytime soon. So, get used to it.” He exhales, looking at their shocked faces through his bangs, head bowed. He huffs, turning around to unlock his bike. 

“Keith, I’m sorry.” Shiro stands up, walking forward. 

“We weren’t trying to gang up on you,” Adam says. “Forgive us. We just get excited about these things.”

Keith exhales, closing his eyes and calming the tightness in his chest. He knows he’s sort of overreacting. Shiro’s always pushed his buttons on purpose — it’s kind of their thing. It was sorta what Keith always imagined brotherly affection would feel like, were he not an only child. And he knows it’s not mean-spirited or anything, and that sometimes Shiro’s teasing was all the push he needed to do things he wanted, but was too scared to do.

Not that hanging out with Lance is one of those things. It’s _definitely_ not one of those things. 

And honestly, Adam and Curtis didn’t deserve that at all. They’ve always been nothing but kind to him, and genuinely want what’s best for him. Keith supposes it’s just difficult for three people who are in not one, but two loving, stable partnerships to wrap their heads around the fact that he’s okay with being single. 

He could blame the outburst on lingering concussion symptoms, or a migraine, or his anxiety, but his therapist had long since ingrained in him that he should take full responsibility for his behaviour, regardless of the kind of shape he’s in. Because, in her words, “ _bad behaviour ruins relationships, and you shouldn’t drive away the people you care about etc., etc._ ”

“Look, just — I’m sorry I yelled, it’s just a lot when you guys do the whole hive-mind thing.”

“I’m sorry, Keith. Really.” Shiro places a solid hand on his shoulder, offering him a soft smile. Curtis and Adam walk over too, crowding around him like three mother hens worried about their chick. Why Keith ended up with not one but three paternal figures, he’ll never know. Life has a weird way of working itself out sometimes. 

“I’m serious though, about the lunch thing.” 

Keith scowls.

“Wait, wait,” Shiro raises his hands, placating him. “Seriously, no ulterior motives. I was just thinking of hanging out with Matt and Pidge sometime after a session, and I think it’d be fun if you joined. Lance too, and his friend — Pidge’s other roommate — if they want. It’s nearly summer, and the weather’s been gorgeous, and I think it would be nice. Think about it.”

Keith sighs. Admittedly, that does sound nice. He hasn’t seen much of Matt or Pidge in a while, and he did have a good time with Lance and Hunk. 

“Okay,” Keith says, carefully. 

“He’ll behave,” Curtis says, smirking. “We’ll make sure of it. No nonconsensual matchmaking.”

Keith chuckles. “Alright, alright. I still need to go, though. I gotta go to bed.”

Adam gasps. “It’s _seven pm_ , Keith! Have you been sleeping enough?!”

“I’m not answering that,” Keith mumbles, knowing Adam will be even less pleased if he did. “Bye, guys.”

He swings a leg over his bike and puts his helmet on, clipping it. After putting his hands on the handlebars, he stops — remembering something he nearly forgot about earlier. 

“Lance can’t eat tomatoes,” he tells them, brow furrowed. “Just… by the way. So… none of that at the lunch thing.” He fidgets, suddenly embarrassed that he somehow remembered that very specific detail. 

“Oh, okay,” Shiro replies, looking smug. 

Keith turns away, kicking up his right pedal and taking off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raw tomatoes and low acid tomatoes can be pretty safe for IC if you're not experiencing a flare. But oh boy tomato sauce is a whole other story.
> 
> Glossary of unfamiliar terms:  
>  **CEGEP** : a sort of community college type deal in Quebec that students go to in between high school and university. Tbh best years of our lives, it's all downhill afterward.  
>  **moonboard** : a super inclined wall covered in every type of hold imaginable. Moonboards are meant to train your grip and hold on different sorts of rocks, mostly. There are no actual problems on a moonboard.


	3. Friendly Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '“Hey, man!” Hunks says, joining them in the stretching area with Lance in tow. Keith waves at them, a little sheepish, trying to ignore the fact that his face is suddenly overcome with heat at the sight of Lance offering him a small smile. What the hell is happening to him? Get a fucking grip, Keith.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm writing a klance climbing gym au set in montreal  
> My friend Zo: Lotor is french  
> Me:  
> Me: true
> 
> There's gonna be some French peppered into this fic , given that it's set in Montreal and ambient French is a thing here. I'm an anglophone, as are most of my friends, but we're nearly all bilingual and speak both French and English in any given day while out and about. If anything is central to the plot I'll provide translations, but otherwise I'm just gonna throw them in there. If some things are hard to understand lmk and I'll adjust accordingly! In this chapter, at least, there are legit only two lines and it's just like "hi how are you" so that probably won't be necessary.
> 
> Anyway, welcome back! Thank you so much for following this fic. I'm very shocked that this has become my highest kudo'ed fic after only 2 chapters, and I just wanna offer up a big big virtual hug to all of you. Y'all are out there making this lady right here very happy.
> 
> Also, I got a couple asks about this fic re: whether I have IC and whether there will be smut, and you can read those answers over here under my back to the wall tag on tumblr. Feel free to send me any asks or comments regarding questions you might have! It's always a pleasure to answer them.
> 
> Enjoy chapter 3!
> 
> [Glossary and description of Keith's condition in the endnotes]

Things are going exceptionally well nearly one month into Lance’s return to bouldering. He knows he’s in the throngs of that crazy satisfying exponential improvement curve that comes with starting to climb, but he’s going to enjoy it anyway before the plateau kicks in. He’s started climbing harder boulders, taking multiple sessions to work on a particularly challenging problem, and every time he tops a new route his skin buzzes with excitement. This is why he loves bouldering. This is what he’d been missing the last four years. 

He’s been a good boy, doing all the pelvic stretches his PT taught him after each session, and he hasn’t had much pain down there at all. In fact, it’s been _months_ since he’s had a proper flare. He knows it’s because he’s been smart and disciplined, but it was never his intention to adhere to the rules forever. In fact, the entire reason he was being good was so that he could start being _bad_ once his bladder had time to recover and build up its defenses. 

Which is why, one lovely Saturday morning, he decides it’s time to have a coffee. 

Lance has quit coffee cold turkey probably six times in the last four years. It’s sort of an endless cycle, and he knows this, and his friends would definitely not approve of what he’s doing. They’ve watched him through it all — the flares, the pain, the quitting caffeine and subsequent migraines, and the careful reintroduction via green tea. But honestly, even though green tea with milk is an adequate substitute for waking him up in the morning, it kind of reminds him of milky grass water and tastes absolutely nothing like coffee whatsoever. 

But you know what? He can’t help it. He’s Cuban, and his abuelo was a freaking coffee farmer back home. It’s part of his identity, ingrained in his family tree, and there’s absolutely no fucking way he’s abandoning it forever, bladder pain be damned. 

“Oooooohhh fffffuuuckkk yeahhh,” he whispers sensually into his cup, seated on the balcony with the morning sun beating down on his skin. The first cup after months of abstinence is always an other-wordly, nearly erotic experience. He left the french press back in the kitchen, knowing that if he took it out with him he’d just down the whole thing and regret it immensely. Also, Prelief is kind of expensive if taken liberally, and he’d rather moderate himself than down 10 capsules a day. 

He doesn’t even care that his cup is half steamed milk. It’s still coffee, and coffee is his favourite thing ever, and — _holy shit how did he live without it for so many months, what the fuck_ ”?

“Nnnnnghh,” he groans, swallowing his second sip, letting the fumes enter his nostrils. He quiets the part of his brain that’s reminding him, in Hunk’s voice, that caffeine is a drug and that he’s just an addict who’s relapsing. Honestly, he’s allowed to have a vice. Everyone has them. Sometimes Pidge will eat an entire pack of Oreos in one sitting, and sometimes Hunk will down too many CBD gummies after a hard shift and zone the fuck out on the couch. At least his thing also has cultural significance to him. He’s _honouring his roots_ , is all. 

“Lance, did you — what the fuck are you doing?”

Oh shit. 

“Leave me alone, Hunk, you’re supposed to be working.” Lance keeps his eyes closed, nose hovering over the steam from his mug. 

“I never work Sundays.”

Lance’s eyes shoot open. Dang, he totally thought it was Saturday. Summer break and working only three days a week is really fucking with his internal clock. At least it’s still a weekend. He was only off by one day.

When Lance doesn’t say anything, opting instead to take another long and loud sip of his coffee, Hunk sighs and pulls up a seat. 

“Why are you drinking coffee?”

“I always drink coffee, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance snaps, voice dripping with sarcasm. He doesn’t even look at his friend, opting instead to enjoy the lovely view of the alley behind their place. It really is a lovely view, honestly. Montreal has great alleys.

“I’m just saying —”

“Nonono, Hunk, stop. I’m a big boy, I know what I’m doing. This isn’t my first rodeo, okay?”

Hunk frowns. “Did you take —”

“Yes, buddy. I took the Prelief, I haven’t had bad pain in months, and this cup is half milk, okay?” Lance lists, counting out everything on his fingers. “Look, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t worry about me. I know it might hurt later, but this is the best morning I’ve had in a long ass time, so... Please, let me enjoy it.”

See, Lance has dealt with the entire spectrum of responses to his _condition_. He hates calling it that, but it is what it is. He’s had people question him, he’s had doctors downplay his pain and tell him it’s probably chlamydia, he’s had people get angry when he needed to stay home because of it. He’s got siblings who just thought he was lazy, and relatives who thought he was being dramatic. 

On the other hand, he’s also had people like Hunk, Pidge, and his Má — who care so much, almost to a fault. Because as much as he loves being taken care of, he doesn’t love being treated like a walking hospital patient that doesn’t know what’s best for him. He doesn’t like when people look at him and see a _sick_ person. He’s just a guy that loves coffee, and sex, and bouldering, and spicy food, and his body might hurt sometimes because of it. And that’s fine. Pain isn’t a stranger to him, it’s normal. He’s dealt with it before, and he’ll do it again. 

Honestly, when it comes to choosing between the things he loves and the risk of pain, it’s not really a contest. Sure, he’ll go about it as cautiously as he can, but he’ll still indulge himself given the fact that he's lucky his IC is not severe enough that he can’t make this choice. Life is meant to be lived, after all. 

He loves his Má, Hunk, and Pidge with all his heart. But he’s already lost one important relationship because someone couldn’t look at him without seeing a sick person. And he really doesn’t want that to ever happen again. 

Damn. He _really_ fucking misses Abuela. She was the only person who really got him.

Lance clenches his jaw, frowning. He didn’t want to think about all this on his perfect, best-morning-in-a-long-time. 

“It’s good shit, Hunk. Take some. I’m using the beans my dad brought you from visiting my uncle.” His voice is even, steady. He knows Hunk can tell he’s trying to deflect, but he also doesn’t feel like rehashing their last fight. He rarely fights with Hunk, and he’d prefer to keep it that way.

Hunk gets up in the corner of his eye. He comes back a moment later, with a cup for himself. After he takes a sip, he laughs a little. “It is some good shit, Lance. Thanks.”

Lance smiles at him, giving him a wink. 

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Hunk starts. Lance holds up a hand.

“Nope, no no. Unnecessary. Just enjoy the morning with me. Kay?”

Hunk nods, smiling wider. “Kay.”

~~~

Turns out, Shiro didn’t need to put too much effort into organizing a hang out. Keith ended up remembering that Coran and Allura were going to reset the big wall — which also means they’ll be organizing a friendly comp with a communal dinner included. He’s only been to about three of these events, but they can be pretty fun, especially now that he’s really comfortable on the wall. 

It’s mainly fun to talk to other climbers in a setting where everyone’s trying out the routes for the first time. Keith’s not really a social butterfly, but he does like talking to people in an environment where they’re all in the same boat. People don’t go to friendly comps to keep to themselves — they go to work on problems in groups, help each other out and discuss strategy. It’s pretty nice.

He texts Pidge, asking if she’ll be coming. She responds that she will be, and she’ll be bringing her roommates, too. 

Keith’s gut does a completely involuntary somersault at that. It’s nerves, unquestionably, which doesn’t fully make sense given that he and Lance are on okay terms, now. Still, he hasn’t seen him since they went for ice cream and Keith’s been more and more anxious about running into him every time he’s gone to the gym since. 

It’s not bad anxiety though, which is the strangest part. He knows this, because of the slight yet palpable pang of disappointment every time he doesn’t see Lance there. Which is double strange, because they’ve probably had only two or three short conversations up until this point, and Keith literally doesn’t know the first thing about him.

… Other than that he’s a natural with kids. And fun to be around, when he’s not angry. And unquestionably attractive, regardless of Keith’s reluctance to let himself admit it. 

Sue him. Keith’s gay as hell and he’s got eyes, is all he’s saying. They also slept together once, so it’s not like he can pretend he _doesn’t_ find him hot. Nothing weird about that. 

“Keith, my boy! Welcome!” 

“Hey, Coran,” Keith says, offering him a small smile. He hands him a 10 dollar bill and marks his name off the list. Turning around, he quickly observes the new problems on the wall. Damn. He feels like a fucking kid in a candy store. 

“Allura and Lotor did most of the setting this time! With a little help from yours truly, of course.” Coran pipes up from behind the desk. “They did quite an impressive job, I might add. We wanted more problems with volumes this time around.”

Keith grins, eyeing a couple orange routes that Coran is no doubt referring to. He’s gonna have fun with those. 

“Can’t wait,” he says. Coran winks at him.

After putting away his bag and grabbing his shoes and chalk, Keith hovers on the second floor, eyeing the door. Shiro hasn’t arrived yet, and he’s kind of early. He starts some warm-up stretches to pass the time. 

A few minutes into stretching, Keith notices Allura and Lotor come up from the basement, their kid in tow. When he first started coming to the gym, Keith was wildly intimidated by them. They’re expert-level climbers, and they’re not shy about offering up tips and critiques. Keith thought it rude at first, but realized it was just their job. They didn’t want people getting hurt at their gym, is all. 

Keith knows his climbing style is a little… risky. But honestly, he loves the adrenaline rush he gets with dynamic movement. It feels almost like flying. Lotor has helped him a couple times, not telling him off but giving him tips on how to do it more safely. He hasn’t fully internalized them yet, but he’s trying.

It can be hard balancing what he loves about sport with what he knows might cost him. He’s already had to give up contact sports because of one too many concussions. After the last one, it wasn’t even a question. Keith had turned into someone he hated, albeit temporarily, but it was still enough to scare the shit out of him, and his mother and Shiro as well. 

So, he takes Lotor’s advice to heart and genuinely does try to climb safer. But bad habits are difficult to kick. 

“ _Allo, ça va?_ ” Keith hears, somewhat distantly. It seems Lotor has taken over for Coran at the desk.

“ _Ouais, toi?_ ” he hears, in Pidge’s voice. He freezes mid shoulder roll, whipping his head to the entrance. Sure enough, Pidge has arrived with Lance and Hunk in tow. 

Lance looks a little fidgety. He’s worrying his bottom lip, eyeing the big wall. Keith’s heart goes out to him. He doesn’t really know all that much about Lance’s history with climbing, but he does know that he’d done it a while before stopping for a bit. Probably an injury, or a time commitment thing, Keith muses. He’s been there before. He gets what it’s like to feel a little unsteady when returning to a sport that once came naturally. 

Keith mentally kicks himself for asking if it was Lance’s first time bouldering a few weeks prior. He was literally just trying to make conversation and hadn’t thought anything of it. But it no doubt contributed to some of Lance’s bitterness that first time they ran into one another, and Keith wants to be careful not to repeat his mistake.

“Hey!” Pidge calls to him, bounding up the steps to the second level. “Excited?”

“Yeah.” Keith grins, leaning in for a hug. “Good to see you.”

“It’s been a while,” Pidge says, pulling a way. “I’m down for another weed and YouTube binge whenever you are.”

“Oh, uh —” Keith stammers, wondering whether he wants to get into this right away. _Fuck it,_ he decides. “I’m not smoking anymore, actually.”

“Oh,” Pidge says, eyebrows raised. “We’ve got these great low dose gummies, actually. I can always bring tho —”

“Yeah I mean, like — No weed, anymore.” Keith cringes slightly. “Sorry.”

“Oh, alright. No worries at all! We can hang without it.” Pidge smiles. It nearly masks her curiosity, but Keith can sense her gears turning. 

She and Matt aren’t too aware of what went down half a year ago. Keith’s under the impression that they just didn’t see him outside the gym all winter ‘cause he was busy. It’s normal for them to go months without hanging out, only to reconnect as if no time had past afterward. He always liked that about them. He knows they’re going to find out eventually, and that it wouldn’t really be a big deal at this point, but he’s kind of enjoying not talking about it. 

It’s normal for people to quit weed, Keith figures. He doesn’t have to get into the whole mood disorder thing, and just act like it was a decision made without too much baggage behind it. 

“Hey, man!” Hunks says, joining them in the stretching area with Lance in tow. Keith waves at them, a little sheepish, trying to ignore the fact that his face is suddenly overcome with heat at the sight of Lance offering him a small smile. _What the hell is happening to him?_ _Get a fucking grip, Keith._

“You wanna be on our team?” Pidge asks. At every friendly comp, participants form teams of four or five and try to complete as many problems as possible. It’s super low stakes, and the winning team gets free t-shirts with the rock gym’s logo on them. Keith’s never won — the winners are usually teams of more experienced climbers than himself. But he’d take climbing with Shiro and Pidge over strangers any day.

“Yeah, sure. Cool if Shiro joins us when he gets here?”

“Of course!” 

. . .

So, Lance is good. Like, _really_ good. He seems to be taking it easy, and he insists his strength isn’t what it used to be, but Keith can’t help but notice that his technique is practiced and clean. If he’s climbing like this after only a month of returning to the sport, Keith can’t really imagine how good he was before his break. 

Keith kind of loves watching him climb after only observing him a couple minutes. Lance moves with more balance and grace than Keith could ever muster, his calf and back muscles hitching and tensing almost imperceptibly as he makes his way up and across the wall. When he watches him execute a flawless heel hook and push himself statically to grasp a hold just out of reach, Keith inhales sharply, knowing how difficult those moves can be when you’re already halfway up the wall. He can't help but silently remark the sheer _flexibility_ required to leverage one’s legs in that fashion. And yet, Lance somehow makes it look easy — taking his time, keeping his hips close to the wall instinctively and resting where appropriate.

It’s entirely unlike the first time Keith saw him climb. Granted, he hadn’t seen all that much given the flapper Lance got. But It seems the last month has definitely treated him well. Keith’s almost envious — he’s never been the most patient climber, and has suffered a lot of easily avoidable falls because of it. 

Keith could watch Lance climb all fucking day and have absolutely nothing to complain about. He’s not mentioning a word of it, though. Keith doesn’t want him thinking he’s paying _too_ much attention.

“You’re staring,” Shiro mutters from where he’s perched in Keith’s orbit, hovering over his head like some kind of giant shoulder angel. 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, temporarily extricating himself to the other side of the wall. 

After the allotted warmup time, their team develops a strategy. Basically, they all need to try topping routes, but they need to economize their attempts so as to not tire themselves out. Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk will do the V0s to V3s, and he and Lance will take care of the ones graded at V4 and up. Well, not really. They’re not exactly able to even attempt many of the harder problems, but they do their best. 

Keith’s not used to trying all the problems at the gym, preferring to stick to the ones that afford dynamic moves and a lot of swinging. He spends most of his time on the overhang, which is great for developing his strength, but less good for practicing balance and technique.

“Wait wait wait, hold up,” Lance says to him, when they’re planning the routes they’re going to try. “Why am I doing all the slabs?”

“Uh,” Keith grunts, running a hand through his hair. He was hoping Lance wouldn’t notice his clear preference. “I dunno… I just thought we’d play to our strengths.”

Lance gasps. “So, what, you don’t think I can do overhangs?!”

Okay, not exactly what Keith was thinking, but it’s easier than admitting he’s shit at slabs.

“I mean, I haven’t seen you top anything harder than a V3 on the overhang, so…” he trails off, smirking. 

Lance squawks. Literally squawks. He’s so fucking extra, damn. Keith chuckles, but it only seems to offend Lance more. 

“I will have you know,” Lance starts, sitting up straighter and pointing a finger at Keith’s face, “that I am JUST as good at overhangs.” He pauses a moment, and his face twists into an evil smirk. “But, I’m glad you’ve acknowledged that I’m clearly better at slabs, between the two of us. I mean, I haven’t even seen you _try_ one yet.”

Aaaand shit. He’s been found out. Keith crosses his arms, trying not to let his face betray his thoughts. 

“Slabs are boring,” is all he says. It takes a moment for him to realize that he had just royally, truly fucked up. His eyes widen a little, and suddenly, Lance is cackling. 

“Oh my GOD!” Lance sputters out between laughs. “You are so _that_ guy!”

“Wha — no, I’m — stop! I am not that guy!”

It takes Lance another minute to compose himself. Keith pouts, tightening his grip on his own arms. He should have known better than to trash slabs to a literal climbing nerd. 

“Okay, Keith, any monkey with decent eyesight can do overhangs, alright? Topping slabs is a fucking _art_.”

Keith scoffs. “Nerd.”

“AUGH!” Lance exclaims in exaggerated offence. “I am SO not a nerd, Keith! I’m like a cool, climbing connoisseur.”

Keith laughs. He can’t help it, Lance is just too fucking dramatic for his own good and it’s honestly really _hilarious_ and _endearing_ , and —

Okay. He’s gonna stop himself right there before things get out of hand. 

He opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by Coran announcing that the comp is going to begin. He makes sure every team’s got the papers they need to fill out to keep track of the routes, and the competition kicks off a moment later. 

. . .

Lance forces him to try three slabs. And he fucks up every. Single. One. 

It’s not his fault they’re not conducive to dynamic movement, kay? Or that he can’t rely solely on his upper body and core strength. He hates that he has to be _slow and careful_ when trying to top them. It’s annoying, and Keith’s impatient, and he just likes topping things — heh, topping. He likes bottoming too. 

Internally laughing at his private gay joke, he notices Lance cock an eyebrow at him from the corner of his eye. 

“What are you smiling at, mister ‘slabs are boring’?”

Keith grins, unable to help himself. “It’s… it’s just funny that it’s called ‘topping’... you know?”

Lance looks confused for a moment, before his face lights up and he sputters out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I always lose it when the announcer at the climbing finals says the athletes are ‘trying to find a top.’” Lance says, taking a seat next to him. Keith laughs, trying to ignore the electric buzz he feels on the side of his thigh when Lance’s leg nearly brushes against his. 

“You watch climbing finals?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never really stopped, even when I was taking a break. They’re way too fun to watch.”

“How long did you take off?” Keith asks, completely unable to help himself. He’s curious, is all. 

Lance tenses a moment, looking up at the wall and away from Keith. He worries that he might have made a grave mistake, but Lance sighs, and faces him once again.

“Four years, ish.” 

“Damn.” Keith says. “I… I wouldn’t have noticed. You look like you’ve been doing it a long time.”

Lance smiles at him, and Keith swears he can see the faintest blush dancing across his cheeks. It’s probably wishful thinking, though. He’s probably just seeing things. 

“Thanks,” Lance says, sincerely. “I was really scared to start up again after so long. I didn’t want to see other people doing things I couldn’t do.”

Keith chuckles. “Shiro always tells me we’re only competing with ourselves. So… you shouldn’t worry about other people. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

Lance grins. “Or ‘restart’, in my case.”

“Or that,” Keith replies. 

They sit in silence a while, observing Pidge, and then Hunk, and Shiro take their turns on the wall. They watch a few other climbers, too, trying to deduce the best approaches for tackling certain problems. Keith’s feeling really at peace about the whole Lance situation, but it’s only making him more curious about the guy’s life. After a couple minutes, his inquisitiveness gets the better of him once again. He hopes Lance won’t take offense — he just genuinely wants to know a little more about him. They seem to be becoming friends, is all.

“So, was it an injury?”

Lance purses his lips, brow furrowing. 

“I don’t wanna overstep, I’m just curi —”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “You can say that.”

Keith wonders what the hell that means. It’s not a “yes,” not at all really. But he figures that if Lance is answering kinda vaguely, maybe this is a conversation meant for a different time. Or never, Keith reminds himself. He doesn’t need to know every ounce of detail about some random guy’s life. 

Still, for all his loudness and posturing, Lance seems to be keeping some things under wraps. Keith can’t quite put a finger on what’s tipping him off, but he’s got a _feeling_ nonetheless.  
It’s not necessarily his business, though, he reminds himself. 

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to —”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Lance interrupts, locking his gaze with Keith’s. He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s all good.”

. . .

After the comp, Coran and Allura set up a table with a literal feast of vegan food for everyone while Lotor stirs a pot of chili on a burner, his kid balanced on his hip. It’s really cute, honestly, and Keith kind of likes this part even though he’s not great at mingling. He’s got more friends here than usual, though, so he supposes he’ll probably find a conversation to slip himself into somewhere. Usually, he just talks to Shiro and hovers around if someone else joins in. 

Keith piles his red camping plate with various salads and a couple small chickpea salad sandwiches. In the corner of his eye, he notices Lance whispering to Allura, gesturing at the food as if he were asking questions about it. He raises an eyebrow. 

He figures he’s got allergies. He already knows Lance can’t eat tomatoes, and Keith himself is lactose intolerant and allergic to shellfish. He’s always figured every person’s got _something_ that doesn’t agree with them — or, in his own case, makes him shit his brains out or go into anaphylactic shock. It’s not a big deal, really, it’s not like lactose and shellfish are hard to avoid, and it’s never really affected his life negatively after he figured out how to deal with it. And he’s got a ton of lactase on hand for when he wants to eat cheese by the handful. 

He notices Lance smile and thank Allura. She nods, smiling back at him in return. Lance starts serving quinoa salad and some hummus wraps onto his plate. Oh shit. Keith fucking _loves_ hummus. He needs some of that, stat. 

“Hey,” he says to Lance, walking over to his end of the table. “Didn’t realize there were hummus wraps. Can I trade you a chickpea thing for one of them?”

“Oh, uh,” Lance chuckles, scrunching up his face. “Nah, I can’t eat those. You could probably ask Hunk, though.”

“Oh,” Keith raises an eyebrow. Hummus and chickpeas are essentially the same thing, and he doesn’t fully understand the distinction. 

Lance sighs. “Alright, alright. Okay, go ahead.”

“What?”

“You can ask, it’s fine. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Huh?” Keith feels himself blushing, embarrassed that he’s been found out. Isn’t it rude to ask health-related questions to people you barely know? Keith feels like it’s rude. 

But Lance said it was fine. Keith reminds himself of this, repeats it over and over quickly in his head before the tightness in his chest can worsen and his mood takes a nosedive — ruining his chances at a fun evening. He’s been doing good the past week, he’s left his house every day, and he hasn’t allowed any social interactions to make him spiral. He’s not about to start now. 

“Dude?” Lance says, still smiling. “I said, you can ask if you want to.”

“About what?” Keith cringes. Oops. 

Lance chuckles. “Aw, man, okay. I’ll just — no worries, alright?”

“No, no, I uh… I do want to know. What’s up with that?”

All of it is so stilted and clunky, and in theory this kind of thing is Keith’s worst nightmare. He hates making people uncomfortable even though sometimes he can’t really help it. But this is different — Lance is different, it seems. Mainly because he’s still kind of smiling, and his face is all open and relaxed and he doesn’t seem at all pissed about Keith’s curiosity. It’s totally different than that first time they talked, where Lance had been boiling and Keith felt immensely guilty without knowing exactly what he did wrong. 

It’s fine, Keith reminds himself. This is all fine and this is all normal and it’s par for the course when getting to know someone. He’s not gonna make friends by keeping to himself, and he’s going to have to let himself get a little uncomfortable once in a while. 

“I can’t eat spicy food,” Lance starts. “Or, I can, sometimes, but not often.” He points at the sandwich on Keith’s plate. “There’s a bunch of sriracha in it, I asked Allura.”

“Oh. Why?”

Lance glances over to where their team is sitting by the mats, talking and eating their food. He motions over to them with his head. Keith nods and follows him over. 

“Basically, my bladder gets all irritated and starts hurting if I eat too much acid or spice,” Lance explains, lowering himself to sit cross-legged. “I can eat them in moderation, but I already had coffee today and I don’t wanna push it.”

Huh. Keith wasn’t really expecting that. He’s never heard of that being a thing, before. He’s also not really sure how to respond, but he definitely doesn’t want Lance to feel weird or anything. 

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” he blurts. “And, uh, lactose intolerant.”

Lance raises his eyebrows. He laughs a little, lightly, and grins at Keith. 

“Nice to know I’m not the only delicate flower here.”

“Hey!” Keith exclaims, nudging Lance with his shoulder. Lance nudges him back. It takes him a moment, but Keith realizes he’s grinning too. 

“Oh, are we talking about Lance’s bladder?” Pidge perks up, leaning in to their space with an evil smirk on her face. “It’s my favourite thing to talk about.”

Keith startles, looking at Lance and expecting him to look offended. Instead, he only rolls his eyes and ruffles her hair a little. 

“Did you tell Keith about that time you drank half a bottle of limoncello and had to ice your crotch for a week?”

“No, Pidge, I did not because that is _privileged information_.”

Keith chuckles, despite himself. He can sort of recognize what this is — it’s reminding him of when Shiro roasts the hell out of him. Keith’s okay with being made fun of when it comes from a loving place. He guesses that Lance might feel the same way, too. 

~~~

“So,” Pidge says, walking next to Lance with her hands gripping the straps of her knapsack.

“So?” Lance echoes, shooting her a _look_. He has a feeling he knows what this is about. 

“Soooo,” Hunk adds, bumping his shoulder with Lance’s. 

“Can you just use your words, please?” Lance huffs. 

“Oh, nothing.” Pidge shrugs. Lance side-eyes her, grimacing. She only stares back at him, painfully neutral.

“OH, COME ON!” Lance stops in his tracks, crossing his arms. “Spit it out!”

Hunk sighs, gazing at Lance fondly. “It was just… It’s nice to see you get along with someone like that, you know?”

Lance pouts. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Pidge starts. “You literally _only_ talked to Keith the entire time. We barely said a word to each other.”

“Augh!” Lance scoffs. “I did _not_.”

“You literally did,” Hunk points out. “There’s nothing wrong with that! It was cute!”

“Okay, so we’re sort of friends now, apparently. So what?”

“Just friends?” Pidge quirks an eyebrow, smirking. 

“Yes, Pidge, just friends.” Lance huffs and keeps on walking, his friends trailing after him a moment later. 

“Is this part of your whole swearing off dating thing?”

“No,” Lance replies tersely, even though it is definitely 100% part of his whole swearing off dating thing. 

Things have been going great for him, in all honesty, and he doesn’t want to ruin it — especially not for another person. Lance has been drinking coffee the past few days, and nothing has happened. He’s been climbing really well, and he hasn't been in pain since he started. He hasn’t felt this at peace with himself or his body in a very long time, and he’d much prefer to focus on that rather than hot people with man buns and tattoos and cute dogs and shellfish allergies. 

In his experience, dating people often meant getting distracted from his own needs. Either he would neglect himself to try to make a relationship work, or he’d prioritize his own needs and be unable to give partners what they wanted. And the thing is, in four years, he hasn’t really met someone he liked enough to want a real, lasting relationship with.

So yes, he’s not going to try to think too hard about how nice it was to hang out with Keith all evening. People make new friends all the time! It’s normal, and that’s just what they were doing. 

“We’re just friends! People make new friends all the time!” 

“Yeah, but not with people they’ve already had sex with,” Pidge points out. “That’s far rarer, I’d say.”

“It was two years ago, it doesn’t matter,” Lance mumbles. 

Hunk humms. “I dunno, Pidge, I made friends with a girl I slept with.”

“Yeah, because you were trying to see if you could do a ‘casual’ thing and instead you just became friends with her and stopped fucking.” Pidge raises an eyebrow at Hunk. “You’re terrible at objectifying people.”

Hunk smiles. “Aw, thanks Pidge!”

“Lance, on the other hand, _loves_ objectifying people. So I don’t really understand where this whole ‘making friends’ thing is coming from.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says. “It’s suspicious.”

“I’ve talked about this already. I’m not dating anyone for a while, so you can let it go.” 

Pidge squints at him in the corner of his eye. She shrugs. “Alright.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hunk echoes. 

And… that’s it, it seems. Lance keeps walking, side eye-ing his friends and expecting them to keep going. But they just… stop. That’s weird. Usually he won’t hear the end of their teasing until he needs to go to the bathroom or otherwise leave their presence. The silence is deafening, but Pidge and Hunk seem entirely comfortable with it. Huh.

“Hey, I started the Blood and Wine DLC!”

“No way!” Pidge beams at Hunk, almost looking straight through Lance. “You’re gonna love it, it’s so French.”

“Yeah! I got all distracted from the main quest and ended up buying a bunch of cheese and wine and made Geralt taste all of it.”

Lance frowns. Even though he has played The Witcher and is admittedly a fan, his head is still hung up on the… other stuff they were talking about. He falls back, letting Pidge and Hunk walk next to one another as he takes out his phone and opens Facebook. Peeping at his friends to make sure they’re not paying attention, he searches for “Keith” and winds up with… okay, literally a hundred results. That’s fair. Facebook’s search algorithm is absolute garbage and Keith is a very basic name. Lance finds himself wishing that his social circle would migrate to another platform already. 

He searches Matt’s friends and finds Keith’s profile almost immediately. It’s completely barren — his profile picture is a terrible photo of Kosmo, and Lance can’t see if he’s got any others because his privacy settings seem to be super strong. His thumb hovers over the ‘request friend’ button, and he briefly considers letting it all go and leaving his and Keith’s next interaction completely up to chance. 

But it was kinda… nice to talk to him today. It was absolutely hilarious to watch him bomb all the slabs, honestly. Keith was kind of fun to bicker with, and to compete with, and to talk to in general, and Lance felt oddly comfortable around him — apparently enough to talk about his IC. Sure, he didn’t exactly get into the gory details, but Keith seemed so unfazed by it that it was almost normal — and he rarely, if ever, felt “normal” talking about it with people he didn’t know well. 

_Fuck it,_ Lance decides. He hits the friend request button and shoves his phone back into his pocket a second later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith was diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome - a sort of umbrella term for a bunch of symptoms one might experience after a concussion. This can include migraines, insomnia, cognitive issues like memory loss and thinking problems, anxiety, depression, and irritability. These symptoms can take weeks or months to go away, and sometimes talk therapy, anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medications may be prescribed. Exercise may also help.
> 
> Again, I'm not a medical expert but I'm a student librarian in a patient resource library and I know about really great resources for researching medical conditions geared towards patients and the general public rather than doctors. If y'all are interested in this sort of thing, check out the Merck Manual Consumer version! Its website is in, like, so many languages and it has a lot of easily digestible info about medical conditions!
> 
> Also, overhang problems are fucking hard idk what Lance is talking about. I think he just likes arguing with Keith.
> 
> Glossary:  
>  **Prelief** : a supplement that removes a lot of the acidity from foods, meant for people with acid sensitivity  
> reset/resetting: setting up new problems on a wall  
>  **friendly comp** : idk if this is a universal climbing term, but at my gym these are cute little casual competitions where everyone is trying out problems for the first time in teams  
>  **heel hook** : sorta when you hook your foot higher up on the wall to leverage your body upward. google might be your friend in visualizing this, but im not gonna link cause I don't wanna get marked as spam! AO3 is cracking down on spam atm.  
>  **slabs** : problems on a wall that is relatively straight, hovering around 90 degrees. Opposite of overhanging problems.


	4. Roommate Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Lance has three insurance claims to file from his physiotherapy appointments. He also needs to download his tax papers to submit to the Quebec government because he fucked up on his bursary evaluation. He ALSO needs to clean the toilet, wash the pot he used to make Kraft Dinner earlier, and call Tia Abuela Mercedes for her birthday yesterday. So, naturally, he’s been browsing sex toys on the internet.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all its fuck ups, I will forever insist that the best things vld gave us in canon (aside from Klance) were:  
> 1\. Lance & Coran cleaning crew  
> 2\. Coralfor  
> 3\. Kinkade's yeast obsession
> 
> This chapter has 2/3 of these things.
> 
> Welcome back! It's been a BIG DAY for me on AO3 - I just completed my previous fic, Poor Boys and Pilgrims, and published a oneshot fantasy monster hunting AU. The hyperfocus was real this week, folks, and my brain is still buzzing. I also need to attend my own birthday party later, so hopefully my brain will exit fic writing mode and enter birthday mode without too many hiccups.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy this chapter! It might be my fav so far.
> 
> Small CW for a character experiencing anxiety in the first scene.

Keith wakes up to a familiar ache in his chest — a surefire sign that today is gonna be one of _those_ days. He takes his meds first thing, mildly pissed that after much improvement he always finds himself back at what feels like square one. He reminds himself it’s temporary, that he’s gone through it before, that lately it only lasts maybe a day at a time and he’ll be feeling fine soon. He turns on his Headspace app and attempts a morning meditation before getting out of bed. 

It sort of helps. Keith was insanely skeptical of the whole mindfulness approach initially, feeling incredibly dumb when his therapist would make him do weird exercises like describe his favourite peaceful setting or focus entirely on the taste of an almond. He nearly quit therapy entirely because he thought it was all bullshit — that is, until it started working. 

He’d learned to let the anxiety hit him like a wave, and instead of struggling against it he’d ride it out and try not to let his thoughts spiral out of control. He would do this by finding something to do with his hands, or by spending time with Kosmo, or maybe phoning someone. It doesn’t always work, and it isn’t foolproof, but his approach got him far enough that he doesn’t feel absolutely powerless anymore. 

Halfway through making breakfast, it starts getting worse. His chest is feeling tighter, he’s a little shaky, and he considers taking a sick day. It’s been a while since he’s taken one, though, and he doesn’t really want to break his streak. So instead, he turns off the burner so that his eggs won’t burn. He sits on the floor of the kitchen, whistling for Kosmo and hugging him when he arrives. Being with his dog isn’t really helping this time, so he opts for plan B — calling his mom. 

“You love me, right?” is all he says as soon as she picks up the phone. 

“Of course, Keith. Of course I love you.” Her words are steady and practiced; she’s received countless calls like this before. He knows she doesn’t mind at all, that she’s completely willing to drop everything if he needs her to, but sometimes he needs a little reminding. 

See, Keith and Krolia didn’t have the most solid relationship during his adolescence. Raising a kid when you’ve barely outgrown being a kid yourself is tough for anyone, and the fact that Keith’s dad had passed away didn’t exactly help things. He loves his mom, and he would die for her, but it doesn’t mean that she had done everything right. Sometimes, Keith’s mom hadn’t been a good mom. And sometimes he hadn’t been a good kid. 

Once, he didn’t speak to her for eight months. They lived in the same apartment, crossed each other nearly every day, and yet he never said a word. She had been busy — she worked a lot, had a social life, and didn’t dote on Keith like some mothers would with their sons. She trusted him to take care of himself — which only led to him feeling more ignored than anything. Keith hated it, though he could never articulate why. So he did dumb shit, hoping that maybe one day she’d notice and care about him. Little did he know, she felt absolutely in over her head, completely powerless in the face of a son who’d suddenly become a teenager she’d barely recognized. 

It was all a long time ago, and meeting Shiro had really helped Keith put things into perspective. He had grown up in a similar situation to Keith, and allowed himself to grow strong because of it. He offered Keith a different mindset, reminding him that sometimes the people who love us don’t know how to show it. And that no moms are perfect — that they’re all just as clueless as the rest of us. 

“Do you want me to come —”

“No,” Keith sighs, shaky. “No, it’s fine. I should — I need to go to work.”

“Okay. Do you want me to bring you lunch?”

Keith rests his head back against his kitchen cupboards, trying to remember whether he’s got leftovers he can bring in. He thinks he does — he made a curry a couple nights before. But he also wouldn’t mind seeing his mom today. 

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

“I’ll come by on my break. Do you want bahn mi?”

“Please.” He smiles. “Spi —”

“Spicy, I know.” He hears her laugh softly into the receiver. “I’ll bring something for Kosmo too. See you later.”

“Thanks, Mom. See you.”

~~~

“So, Lance, how old are you?” Coran asks while mopping the mats. 

“I’m, uh, twenty-four?” It takes him a moment to remember, honestly. He still feels like he’s twenty-two or some shit — but there isn’t really that much of a difference between the two, now that he thinks of it. He’s still flying by the seat of his pants. He still lives with Hunk and Pidge. And he’s still single. 

Coran barks a laugh. “You really don’t sound too sure of yourself.”

Lance chuckles. “I lose track sometimes, I dunno.”

“I understand that perfectly, I’m afraid. Once I hit fifty I decided to stop counting!”

“Damn. How old are you now?”

Coran stops mopping and eyes Lance with a meaningful glance. “I told you, I stopped counting! So I don’t know, really!” He releases a couple of full-bodied chuckles, wiping at his eyes. 

Lance quirks an eyebrow, grinning. He’s only been helping Coran clean for about fifteen minutes, and the guy’s already treating him like some sort of adopted godson. It’s pretty sweet, he’s having a good time. 

Apparently he doesn’t need to come help clean every week. He can do it two Tuesdays out of four every month, and still get a discount on his membership. But at this rate, he’d honestly be down to come every week. He hasn’t had all that much to do with only three weekly shifts at the kid’s section of a public library in one of the richest neighborhoods in the city. He loves his job, don’t get him wrong, but this is a nice change of pace. It’s fun to put his hands to good use — he’s missed working at the bakery. 

“So what do you do with your time, Lance?”

Well isn’t that a fucking loaded question. 

If Lance were to answer honestly, he only works three days a week and the rest of the time, he stays in bed until noon watching Bon Appetit videos of recipes he can’t recreate. He then scavenges Hunk’s leftovers for “brunch” and jerks off at least twice before “starting his day” around 3pm. This could mean seeing a friend or family member, going to the climbing gym, reluctantly buying groceries or going back to watching YouTube videos if he’s feeling particularly avoidant. Either that or he bothers Hunk and Pidge if one of them is home and will end up hanging out with them all day. But listing his daily activities requires verbal acknowledgement that he barely does anything productive with his time, so he goes the traditional route. 

“I’m in library school. But I’m on break, so… I’m only working right now. At the Westmount library, in the kids section.”

“Ooh, fascinating! You know, my partner Alfor was a medical librarian for a number of years.”

Oh wow. Lance’s heart warms at that. This city is so fucking gay, he loves it. 

“Awesome! How long have you been together?”

“Hmmm,” Coran furrows his brow, squinting at his mopping job. “I’m afraid I don’t know at this point, probably twenty years or so? He and Allura’s mother split up when she was young, and it didn’t take me all that long to make a move! I hadn’t thought I’d ever have the chance, really.”

“You knew each other beforehand?”

Coran smiles wistfully, gazing out into nothing. “Why yes, we had been best friends long before. I’ve known him since were teenagers!”

“Awww, Coran! That’s so sweet!”

Coran giggles. Literally giggles. Holy shit, Lance loves this man. What a legend. 

“What about you, my boy? Do you have yourself a partner?”

“Uh, no? No, I don’t.”

“Well, I’m sure a fine young man like yourself has special people in his life, partner or no.”

“Yeah,” Lance pipes up. “I’m roommates with Pidge and Hunk, I don’t know if you know them but they come here. We’re like a family.” Lance leaves out the part where they have absolutely no boundaries between them and are oddly codependent for a group of unrelated grown-ass people. Coran doesn’t need to know about that. Yet.

“Ah yes! Of course I know them. And I should have remembered that you knew them — I noticed you were a team at the comp.”

Lance humms, smiling. He’s working out a particularly stubborn patch of chalk from the mat, attempting to give it a little more of his concentration. 

“How do you know Keith, then?”

“Uh wha — what?!” Lance jumps, almost dropping the mop in the process. “I don’t — I don’t know Keith.”

Coran raises an eyebrow at him, apparently confused. “But I saw you compete together. Surely you must know him by now?”

“Uh, yeah. Right.” Lance’s face feels hot all of a sudden. He chalks it up to the fact that Keith _still_ hasn’t accepted his friend request, a week since he’d sent it. Which is, y’know, _fine_. Pidge pointed out that she doesn’t think he goes on Facebook often, so he probably hasn’t seen it. But it’s been a week since the comp, and even though Lance has been coming to the gym nearly twice as often, he still hasn’t seen Keith. Not that Keith is the entire reason he’s been visiting the gym so often. It’s not that at all. Not one bit. 

“Well, Keith usually helps me clean up, but he was feeling rather under the weather today. It’s a shame, really, but I expect to see him next time.”

Lance pauses at that. Technically, he doesn’t really have to come clean the gym next week, but he always _could_ and skip the week after, and —

Whooaaaah okay, no no nope. He’s not going to come clean an entire fucking bouldering gym when he doesn’t even need to for the soul purpose of seeing some dude who hasn’t accepted his friend request. That seems… excessive. So excessive. 

He should just download Grindr and find Keith that way. Y’know, like old times.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Lance mutters through gritted teeth. He hasn’t gotten laid in a long-ass time, and it’s definitely started to fuck with his head. 

“How long have you been climbing?” Coran asks, ripping Lance away from his thoughts. Thank God. 

“I started when I was fourteen, but… I’ve taken some time off in between.”

“Ah! You started young!” Coran gazes at him, approvingly. “I myself have taken breaks, sometimes a few years at a time. It’s quite normal, actually,” he adds, as if reading Lance’s insecurities. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Of course,” Coran says pointedly, raising his brows. “I was a bit too enthusiastic when I first started, and ended up developing tendonitis in my feet! I wasn’t able to climb for two years after that, I’m afraid.”

Coran humms, continuing to mop. Lance isn’t completely sure what’s coming over him, but he’s feeling oddly comfortable. Much more so than he anticipated, honestly. He figures if he’s gonna be cleaning with Coran regularly, they might as well get to know each other a little. It’s kind of inevitable. 

“Yeah, I stopped ‘cause I got sick with this pelvic pain thing and climbing made it worse.”

“Ah, I can imagine how that would be. Bouldering can be especially strenuous on those muscles.”

Coran doesn’t seem phased at all. He’s probably heard everything — been exposed to every injury and impairment in the books. He’s been in this business a long time, Lance figures, and he’s sure he’s not the first to bring this kind of thing up. 

It’s not the full story, though. Not really. But Lance figures he’ll ease into the whole saga of how his relationships with both climbing and his ex fell apart once he’s comfortable enough talking about his dick with Coran. Which, by the way, will probably be never, so…

“Yeah, it sucked,” Lance says, in summary.

“Does that mean that you’ve returned to the sport recently?”

“Yeah, ‘bout a month and a bit ago.”

“And how do you find it?”

“Honestly, it’s been great.” Lance grins. “I was worried at first, but it’s been really good.” He pauses, knitting his brows together. “I keep feeling like I’m gonna hit a point where progressing stops being so easy, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it, you know?”

“Ah yes, the infamous climbing plateau!” Coran absently twiddles his moustache. “Well, from my experience, I can honestly say that it will most likely happen to you! And it will, in your words, ‘suck’ I’m afraid! But it’s nothing you haven’t been through before, now, is it?”

Lance swallows. “Uhh, no?”

“You will be fine, I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah,” Lance says, focusing very intently on the sight of his mop dragging against the mat. “Totally fine.”

. . .

“PIIIDGE! HUUUNK! I need opinions!”

Lance has three insurance claims to file from his physiotherapy appointments. He also needs to download his tax papers to submit to the Quebec government because he fucked up on his bursary evaluation. He ALSO needs to clean the toilet, wash the pot he used to make Kraft Dinner earlier, and call Tia Abuela Mercedes for her birthday yesterday. So, naturally, he’s been browsing sex toys on the internet. 

“I need to spend at least 100 dollars ‘cause then I’ll get a free gift,” he adds, marching into the kitchen and plunking his laptop down on the table. 

“Hmm,” Pidge mutters, adjusting the screen. She narrows her eyes. “You know, the free gifts always suck. They’re always half-functional vaginal dildos that aren’t even rechargeable.”

Hunk wrinkles his nose as he preps some onions. “Can we not talk about dildos in front of the food? It’s weird.”

“Lemme see your wishlist,” Pidge says, completely ignoring him. Lance obliges. “Hmmm, silk rope, remote controlled butt vibrator, a… Hitachi magic wand?” She looks up at him, skeptical. “Why?”

Lance grabs at the screen pointing. “It comes with a sleeve for dicks, look!”

Pidge adjusts her glasses. “Damn. Pretty cool.”

“May I ask what brought on this sudden shopping spree, buddy?”

Oho, Lance is definitely not getting into the cocktail of avoidant behaviour, lewd thoughts about a certain lactose intolerant person, and voluntary celibacy that spurred this particular online romp. Not today. This is gonna be a _fun_ evening of _self-care_. 

“No reason, Hunk, just figured I’d treat myself.” He shrugs, casually.

“You sure it’s not ‘cause you’re avoiding the tax thing?”

Lance gasps at him. “I have NO clue what you’re talking about!”

“Hey,” Pidge pokes him in the ribs. “When the Quebec government comes and arrests you, can I have your room?”

“Shut up, Pidge, it’s just for my bursary —”

“So you haven’t done it yet?” Hunk grins. 

“UGH! Okay, okay, FINE! I’ll do the tax thing!” Lance raises his arms in defeat, storming out of the room. Halfway into the hall, he pauses, lips pursed, and spins on his heel toward the kitchen once again.

“Can’t do the tax thing. My laptop is here.”

Pidge shrugs, still scrolling through his wishlist. “Fair.”

“Oh my God,” Hunk mutters at the onions. Well, he’s been dealing with Lance’s bullshit for over a decade now, and he hasn’t run away screaming, yet. Lance figures he’ll push it as far as he can go. 

“What are you gonna get?”

“I dunno,” Lance sighs, pulling up a chair next to Pidge. “I can’t decide. There are too many options.”

She snorts. “Is that why you’ve somehow never bought a toy? In your life? Even though you spend way too much time on this webs —”

“Shhhh, help me or get out of the kitchen.”

“I was here first!”

“Play nice, kids,” Hunk calls over his shoulder. “Don’t want Keith thinking we’re a bunch of degenerates.”

Wait.

_What._

“WHAT?!” Lance yells, nearly falling off his chair. 

“Oh,” Pidge says, eyes wide and innocent. “Sorry, forgot to mention I invited him over for dinner.”

“WHAT?! But it’s roommate dinner! He’s not a roommate!”

“He has no roommates,” Pidge points out. “And I felt like he might enjoy a dinner party that’s _not_ hosted by Shiro and his husbands, where he can be treated like a peer and not some sort of surrogate adoptive son.”

Lance opens his mouth, and closes it, and opens it again. “Pidge… there is so much to unpack in that sentence, I can’t —”

“Anyway,” she deflects, looking at her watch. “He’ll be here in… fifteen minutes? Probably?”

“WHAT?!” Lance shoots up, storming out of the kitchen. He doesn’t look back, trying hard not to dwell on the plural “husbands” as he makes a beeline for the shower. He hasn’t even cleaned himself since he went bouldering earlier, and he is _not_ about to host a guest with post-climbing feet. 

As he exfoliates his face and neck under a hot stream of water, he thanks his luck that his room is clean. Fifteen minutes is _not_ enough time to clean both one’s room and oneself, no way. 

When he brings his pumice stone to his feet, he realizes that Keith has _been_ here before. In the apartment. In his fucking _bedroom_. Oh my God, he hopes it’s not gonna be weird. It’ll probably be a little weird. 

After his shower, he dabs toner all over his face, appraising his skin in the mirror. Dang. He’s grateful his meds helped him stop picking at it. Score one for Lancey Lance, zero for Attention-Defecit Hyperactivity Disorder. 

When he starts smearing on a clay face mask, he’s fully aware that he’s stalling. Thing is, he’s a little apprehensive about facing Keith given that he _still_ hasn’t accepted his friend request. He also may have heard the front door open at some point during his bathroom session, and he figures if he’s already late he might as well take his time, you know? It’s not like he and Keith are _friends_ , even. In fact, according to Facebook, they’re more like acquaintances in friend purgatory, or something. So really, he doesn’t owe him anything.

He sets a ten-minute timer for his mask and starts blow drying his hair. He normally lets it air dry, but he doesn’t have that kind of time. Halfway through, he realizes he forgot to clean the toilet earlier. He stops what he’s doing, and gets to that as well.

“Lance?” Hunk calls, knocking on the bathroom door. “Uh, you okay? Keith’s been here for, like, half an hour.”

Dang. They probably think he’s having a flare or something. 

“I’m fine!” He yells back, voice a little pitchy. Honestly, he always takes way too long in the bathroom, flare or no flare, and they know this. He’s got his phone in here too, so they could just assume he’s looking at memes on the toilet like usual. Hey. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

But before he can reach for his phone, Hunk opens the door and waltzes in. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?! HUUNK!” 

Hunk sighs, closing the door behind him. “Lance, why are you cleaning the toilet in a face mask?”

“Because the toilet was dirty and so were my pores,” Lance replies pointedly, flushing the toilet to punctuate his sentence. 

Hunk crosses his arms, leaning against the closed bathroom door. “I’m sorry we didn’t give you enough time to mentally prepare yourself. It was honestly kinda spontaneous. Pidge was just messaging him and figured, why not, you know?”

“I don’t need to ‘mentally prepare’,” Lance spits out, setting down the toilet brush. 

“Sure,” Hunk says, lifting an eyebrow. He puts a hand on the doorknob, opening it. “Take all the time you need, buddy.”

“Hmph.” Lance squints at himself in the mirror, figuring that the mask is dry enough already. He starts taking it off.

. . .

Okay, so it’s not like Lance _meant_ to take another fifteen minutes, but he needed to decide what to wear. It’s not an easy task, okay? Especially when you haven’t done laundry in a week. 

He finishes buttoning up a cute, blue polka-dot short-sleeve shirt Veronica got for him when she went to Uniqlo in Toronto. He doesn’t wear it often because buttons take too long but it’s the nicest clean thing he owns right now. And he wants Keith to know what he’s missing. You know, in terms of friendship. 

He leans into his mirror, pursing his lips and poking at his pierced earlobe. He hasn’t worn a stud or ring in it for at least a year, now. But maybe it would complete the look? He’s not sure he’d be able to find one in his room, anyway, so maybe he should just forge —

There’s a knock at the door. 

“I’m coming, Hunk! Jeez!”

“Uhh,” he hears from the hall. Oh damn. That’s not Hunk’s voice. “Can I come in?”

“Um,” he mumbles, suddenly sweating. “Yeah, sure dude.”

Keith opens the door, hesitantly entering his room like a scared cat. He gives the room a once-over, and Lance swears he can see him blushing from where he’s standing. Fair, he figures. Not every day you revisit a room you once had casual sex in. 

“Uh,” Keith starts, effortfully ripping his eyes away from the surroundings to look at Lance. “Are you avoiding me?”

“What? No!” 

“You sure?” Keith cocks his head. “Cause, like, I’ve been here for —”

“Ah, buh buh, I know, I know!” Lance interrupts, waving his arms and walking over to the door. “I just take a long time to get ready. Can’t look this good without putting the time in, amirite?” He winks at Keith, and tries hard not to feel completely mortified that he just _did_ that. 

Well. Lance has always been a master at deflecting. Sue him. 

“Come on, I know it’s weird to hang out in a room you had great sex in once. So, let’s go, shall we?” And, okay, that was also a little cringey but he really does _not_ feel up to staying in this room one moment longer, especially not with Keith’s eyes on him. It’s doing _very_ weird things to his brain.

“Y-yeah, sure,” Keith says, trailing after Lance toward the kitchen where Hunk and Pidge are just setting the table. The door to the back balcony is open, letting in the bright, evening sun and a cool breeze. Hunk made tacos with a bunch of fix-ins, and is in the process of laying out heated tortillas, refried beans, some sort of pulled pork and veg mixture and a bunch of cut up limes and cilantro. He typically cooks with spices that he knows are friendly to Lance’s bladder. A couple years prior, they had done a sort of elimination-diet experiment type deal in the hopes of figuring out which ones were okay. Damn. Lance loves Hunk so fucking much. He’s so lucky. 

“Beer?” Pidge asks, opening one of Hunk’s home brews over the sink. Hunk hasn’t even brewed since last Christmas, but they’re _still_ working through his last batch of amber ale, not that Lance is complaining or anything. Hunk had gone through the trouble of reading up on beers that are less irritating to bladders, and made sure to make some that were less likely to cause a flare up. Has Lance mentioned how much he loves Hunk? He really loves Hunk.

“Hey, Hunk? I love you.” Lance says, holding a hand to his heart as he takes his Prelief out of the cupboard. 

“I know, I love you too, buddy,” Hunk responds, offering Lance a genuine smile as he puts some glass jars on the table to act as glasses. 

Keith holds out his glass to Pidge, wide eyes transfixed on the admittedly very impressive spread on the table. “Wow, this is, uh, nice. Thanks, guys.” 

“Thanks,” Hunk says, grinning at him.

“Yeah, don’t thank Lance and I. We did literally nothing,” Pidge adds, pouring beer into Keith’s glass. “I was trying to help Lance pick sex toys from his giant pink-cherry wishlist right before you came over.”

“Wha — PIDGE! It’s not GIANT!”

Keith laughs. It’s the same eye-crinkling, kind of quiet chuckle that Lance has seen on him before, and if he’s being honest, he’s getting quite used to it. Lance sometimes has a problem with his friends roasting him around outsiders, but if it makes Keith laugh like that he’ll take it over his dignity any day. 

Woah. Okay. That’s kind of intense. Lance reels in his thoughts before they can take off without his permission. 

He settles in around the overfilled table with Pidge and Keith, taking some beer for himself. Still wearing his apron, Hunk surveys the scene — definitely trying to remember if he forgot something. He starts sitting down, and shoots up just before his butt can hit the chair. 

“I forgot the music!” Hunk yells as he runs out of the kitchen. 

“HUNK!” Pidge yells after him. “You’re doing the thing!”

Keith shifts a glance at Lance. “What’s ‘the thing?’”

“The ‘thing’ is where Hunk makes us a lot of really great food and then takes forever to sit at the table.” Lance chuckles. “We usually just start eating without him but we’re being nice ‘cause we have company.” He winks at Keith. Involuntarily. 

Keith shoots him a small smile just as Hunk returns with his tablet. 

“What do you guys want? I’ve got bluegrass covers, 90s R&B, Adele —”

Pidge grins mischievously. “Put on the Country Road playlist!”

“YESSS DO IT!” Lance yells, pumping a fist in the air. Hunk groans. 

“Guys, come on —”

“It’s a playlist of every “Country Road” cover on Spotify, ordered from best to worst,” Lance recants excitedly, grinning in Keith’s direction. “We usually start with the last one. It’s sooooo bad.”

“Nice,” Keith grins. “I’m down.”

“Aw, come on!” 

“Hunk, our guest wants it. We can’t say no to our guest.”

Hunk sighs, bringing an extremely reluctant finger to the screen of his tablet. Lance almost feels sorry for him — he and Pidge insist on playing this stupid fucking playlist at least three times a week. But they can’t help it, okay? It’s brilliant, so freaking rewarding when you listen to the bad ones first. 

“Keith, are you sure?” Hunk asks, finger still hovering over the screen. “It’s two hours long. It’s _intense_ —”

“I’m ready,” Keith says, narrowing his eyes. “Bring it.”

~~~

Keith didn’t know he was even capable of hating a song so badly, so fiercely. And yet, here he is — one of his favourite songs ruined for him, forever. 

“I can’t anymore,” he mumbles, head resting in his hands as an upbeat euro-pop rendition of John Denver’s “Take me Home, Country Roads” reverberates through the kitchen. “I’m tapping out.”

“Aww, dude, we didn’t even get to the David Hasselhoff cover yet!” Lance blinks at him with pleading eyes. 

“No, make it stop.”

The music cuts out a moment later as Hunk switches to what he fondly calls his “favourite bluegrass cover playlist.” The implication that he has a ranked list of bluegrass cover playlists is pretty charming, honestly. Keith’s growing quite fond of him. 

Pidge offers to pour more beer into everyone’s glasses, raising an eyebrow at Lance when he gives her a short nod. They finished eating a while ago, and no one has made any effort to clear the table yet. Aside from the horrendous hillbilly trap and cheesy disco covers of one of Keith’s former favourite songs, the meal went by pretty nicely and he’s been enjoying himself. Hunk’s food was so good that barely any actual conversation happened before they cleaned their plates, but Keith’s feeling pretty at ease, all things considered. He may not have been doing too well the day before, but hanging out with Hunk, Pidge, and Lance has sort of gotten him out of his own head. 

Dinners at Shiro’s are great, don’t get him wrong. But he often feels a little _too_ doted on, like less of a peer and more of a cute young person with young person problems. He knows they don’t actually feel that way about him, but he can’t help it sometimes. 

“I went home with this girl one time,” Lance starts, breaking Keith away from his thoughts, “and I’m _pretty_ sure she played the hillbilly trap cover while we were making out.”

“You like girls?” Keith fumbles out without warning, completely taken aback at his own lack of filter. 

Pidge snorts. “Lance likes anything vaguely anthropomorphic.”

“Hey! I have _taste_ —”

“Oooh, remember when you had all those Spacejam posters, ‘cause you were all obsessed with Lola Bunny?” Hunk grins, taking a sip of his beer. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “So you’re a furry?”

“Wha — guys, stop putting ideas in Keith’s head!”

“You know we still love you,” Pidge says innocently, smiling sweetly at him. “Furry kink or not.”

“Oh my god,” Lance mumbles putting his head in his hands. “Yes, Keith, I like women, too. I like people of all shapes, can we stop talking about me?”

“Tell him about the hamster lady!” Pidge nearly shouts, completely ignoring him. 

Keith knits his brows together. “Is that a furry thing?”

“NO! No, it’s not a —” Lance cuts himself off, sighing and leans back in his chair. “Do you want to know about the hamster lady?” he asks Keith, a note of defeat in his voice. Keith shrugs noncommittally, trying to mask the fact that he _definitely_ wants to know about the hamster lady. 

“Okay, okay,” Lance wiggles a little in his seat, gesturing with his arms. “SO a couple years ago, I bring Nadia to the pet store ‘cause we ran out of things to do and I still had her for another hour. And these two hamsters are, like, fully going at it in the display. Like, hair pulling, biting, S&M shit, it was wild.”

“Wha — what the fuck?” 

“Right? So anyway, Nadia’s like, ‘Tio what are they doing?’ and I’m at a complete loss cause, like, what? But this lady that worked there was near us, she’s french by the way, and she crouches down next to Nadia and she’s like, ‘they’re mating.’ And then she starts explaining all this stuff to Nads about how they’re trying to make the female hamster have babies, and they’re watching to make sure they don’t fight, or something. And Nadia just listens all fascinated and I’m just hoping I don’t have to have the _talk_ with my niece ‘cause I’m shit at explaining stuff.”

Pidge is grinning progressively wider, almost vibrating in her seat. Keith has legitimately no fucking clue where this is going. 

“SO, Nadia gets distracted by the birds after a bit. And the lady comes up to me, and she’s sort of making eyes at me and I’m just like woah, alright. Didn’t expect this to happen at the pet store with my niece, but cool. And she says something weird like, ‘I’ve got some finer specimens at home, if you wanna come over later and take a look.’ And I’m, like, sorta shocked and I don’t fully understand what she’s saying, but she’s hot and she’s definitely a lot older than me so I figure she does this all the time and doesn’t give any fucks. So I’m like, cool, and I get her address.”

“Uhh, ‘specimens?’”

“Super weird, right?” Pidge says, wiggling her eyes at Keith. He has no clue what to do with that. 

“Um,”

“SO THEN, I go to her apartment later. And she answers the door in a literal bathrobe and I’m like, ‘Okay, this is happening, apparently.’ So she ushers me to her room and we sorta make small talk and then she brings me to her closet and opens it — and it’s LITERALLY filled with hamster cages. Like, at least a dozen. And they’re all connected by those tube things.”

Keith gapes. “Wha — what the _fuck?_ ”

Pidge cackles, wiping at her eyes under her glasses. 

“She was literally a blackmarket hamster dealer! And she was trying to sell me one or something.”

“Oh my god,” Hunk sputters out. 

“What did you do?” Keith asks, suddenly extremely invested. He can’t help it, really. Lance is a talented and animated storyteller.

Lance leans back, grinning. “I had no clue what to tell her, cause like, I didn’t want a hamster, yaknow? So I’m sorta just like, ‘désolé madame, I misunderstood the invite.’ And she realizes I meant that I was expecting to hook up, and she gets all flustered and is sorta like, fuck it.”

“So?”

“So we banged.” Lance shrugs.

Keith gasps, despite himself. “In front of all the hamsters?”

“I mean, she may have shut the closet door. Or not, I don’t really remember. It was like, years ago.”

“Wait, wait!” Hunk interrupts, leaning forward. “Tell him the best part!”

“Wha — that wasn’t — there’s _more_?”

“Yep,” Lance smirks. “Afterward, she tells me she hasn’t done that with anyone since her divorce! And she and her ex broke up ‘cause he was really not into the breeding thing.”

“Oh my god,” Keith mumbles, captivated and a little horrified. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta. We hooked up like, two more times but then we figured it wasn’t going anywhere ‘cause I was twenty-two and she was, like, pushing forty and wanted a husband, I dunno.”

“That’s…”

“Impressive, eh?” Pidge grins widely from behind her beer glass. 

“Yeah, honestly.” Keith feels the corner of his mouth twitch a little. “I… how is that even real?”

“Life’s weird.” Lance crosses his arms an leans his chair back, all self-satisfied. “Stuff happens.”

“Stuff” in that vein never happens to Keith, really, but he opts not to mention this at all. He’s still kind of amazed, more than he would like to admit, at Lance’s candor. Lance has a way of recounting events with such clarity and forthrightness that Keith could probably be happy listening to him talk about getting his groceries or washing his bathtub or whatever, and be completely entranced all the same. It’s something Keith’s always envied in people — he’s always wondered what it would be like to be that comfortable bearing himself to others. 

Maybe if he hangs around Lance more, he’ll learn a thing or two. 

“Alright, dish party?” Hunk gets up and starts clearing the table. Pidge shoots up after him, grabbing at his tablet. 

“I’m putting on ABBA!”

Lance gets up, nearly leaning over Keith as he starts helping to clear the table as well. “Pidge likes washing dishes to ABBA.”

“I hate dishes but I like ABBA. It makes me not care about the dish part,” Pidge recounts as she throws a couple dish towels in Lance’s direction. “You’re both on drying duty, by the way.”

Lance tosses a rag over at Keith. He gets up, joining Lance in leaning against the counter and trying not to think too hard about how close he wants to position his body. Keith feels like he rarely worries about how much to face someone or what to do with his limbs, but something about the way Lance’s eyes keep trailing after him is doing strange things to his head. 

Or maybe it’s just a concussion thing. Maybe he’s hallucinating. 

He’s gonna need to make conversation to stop things from spiraling out of whack. Doesn’t want Lance thinking he’s completely inept. 

“So, uh,” he begins, wringing the rag in his hands. _Nice one, Keith._ Real smooth motherfucker over here.

“Hey, do you use Facebook?” Lance interjects somewhat innocently. 

“Huh? Oh, not really. I have one but I don’t use it.” Keith purses his lips. “Why?”

“Just, uh —” Lance rubs the back of his neck, straightening his back a little. “I dunno, I had fun climbing at the comp, and I figured it’d be cool to do that again.” He smirks at Keith, making eye contact. Keith swears he sees a glimmer of mischievousness dancing behind his eyes. “You know, since you suck at slabs and shit, could be cool to help out, is all.”

Keith blinks.

_Oh._

_Hell_ no.

He takes a massive inhale, nearly ready to explode before Lance is chuckling and waving his arms a little. 

“Sorry, sorry I was kidding, It’s just,” He grins, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno, it was fun. To have someone to, like… compete with, or whatever. I could learn a few things from you, too.” He smiles, a little sheepishly. Keith feels himself deflate at the sight of it.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I could give you my number? If you want.” 

Lance nods, sort of casually but also sort of mechanically, like Keith’s social clumsiness is rubbing off on him or something. He feels a little bad about that. He’s trying. 

“Here, gimme yours,” Keith says, whipping out his phone. Lance takes it and punches in his number. “I’ll probably go a few days from now, Sunday maybe.”

“Cool!,” Lance says, handing the phone back and grinning, all awkward remnants dissolving just like that. Keith wonders how he does it. “I work the next few days, but I was thinking of going Sunday, too.”

Keith smiles a little, before getting startled by Hunk nudging his shoulder with a wet pot. He takes it and gets to drying, trying not to let his heart get too invested and read into things. He and Lance are friends, sort of, at this point. It’s not like he’s trying to get a date — Keith’s got way too many issues for that right now, and he knows it. Besides, he’s not sure anyone would really want to date him as he is right now — he wouldn’t really know how to explain the occasional, unpredictable mood swings, or the anxiety that keeps him at home some days, or the headaches. Keith’s trying to stand on his own two feet, without burdening his mom or Shiro. Though, It’s all been getting better, he’ll admit, especially since he got Kosmo. 

Keith seriously owes whoever came up with government-funded emotional support animals a massive debt of gratitude. The fact that he’s at a dinner party with Pidge and her friends right now is a testament to how much things have gotten better, he reminds himself. 

“What are you smiling about?” Lance asks him, smirking as he dries a couple chef’s knives. 

“Just thinking about my dog,” Keith answers honestly. Why not? Lance likes Kosmo too.

“Awww,” Lance brings a hand to his chest. “How long have you had him?”

“Five months, give or take?” Keith purses his lips, apprehensive about sharing too much information. Lance seems like the kind of person that has his shit together. He’s not an asshole, he’s sure of that now, but he might not really get where Keith’s coming from. “Normal people” without Keith’s brand of problems don’t, usually.

“You can bring him here next time,” Lance says, a little excitedly. “It’s cool, I know he’s well-behaved and stuff and I seriously miss having animals around.”

“You had pets?” Keith asks, genuinely interested. Lance sighs fondly and starts rattling off about his parents’ big old grumpy cat, and his sister’s neurodivergent bunny when they were teenagers, and his aunt’s spoiled dog they would sometimes petsit. He’s all excited and animated again, and Keith just smiles and nods along, completely content to just listen. 

This is enough, Keith decides. Budding friendship is more than enough for him — it’s already so much more than he would have anticipated. He knows that if they keep hanging out, Lance will eventually pick up on things; and maybe Keith will be okay with that when the time comes. But for now, he’s content to just be a guy listening to another guy ramble about his family pets. Or a guy with a climbing buddy he might see every couple weeks.

And with this, Keith finds himself already looking forward to “next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahhah it's funny cause the whole "friend" garbage is really not gonna last much longer.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm continually amazed at all the support you guys are giving this fic. I appreciate the comments and asks so so much. Hope you have a nice week! See you on the flipside <3


	5. Everything is Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance isn't totally sure what his face is doing, but it's probably something really embarrassing given how Pidge is smirking at him right about now.
> 
> "You're gonna meet someone one day that won't think you're too much. They're gonna love you and you're gonna love them warts and all."
> 
> Lance's throat feels a little tight and his eyes feel a little wet. All the pain from today might be making him a little tired and emotional, okay? Sue him. He has feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: This work got deleted by accident! I was really really stressing about it, and tried re-uploading as quickly as possible. I'm sorry about this mix-up, and infinite thanks for those of you who sent me messages during the interim. This is just a reminder to re-subscribe/bookmark/kudo and everything if you want to keep receiving updates! I'm really sad that all your lovely comments got deleted, but what can you do. Things happen, I apparently have butterfingers, and we gotta keep on chuggin'. Anyway, enjoy chapter 5! I love you all.
> 
> \-----------
> 
> Hey, here's an early update! I'm going to a cottage the next few days, and my internet will be spotty. This means I might take a few days to answer comments.
> 
> As always, infinite thanks for reading this fic. I hope you enjoy this update... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> CW for a character being in pain a lot and for scenes with nudity and peeing. It's nothing super out of the ordinary, given that most people get naked and most people pee, so it shouldn't be too shocking. I'm just trying to paint a complete picture of Lance's life. It's also not whumpy thanks to the copious amounts of love and support he gets, so really, this warning might not be needed. Just figured I'd throw it in!
> 
> Also, CW for discussions of biphobia at one point.
> 
> Glossary in the end notes!

**Pidgeon**  
6:47 PM

  
>Hey can you pick up toilet paper on your way home  


>why me

  
>Hunk’s on a date  
>also, code red  


>oh fuck  
>of course bud see you soon ❤

Lance drops his phone onto his stomach and leans his head back on the couch pillows. He tries inhaling and exhaling slowly, but is met with another sharp stabbing pain, shooting up his groin into his pelvic floor. He still feels like he needs to pee, but he went only five minutes prior and probably doesn’t have anything left to expel. It’s not like doing so would stop the hurting anyway. 

He’d started biking a few days earlier. It was a risky move, especially when going from not biking at all whatsoever to biking to work across the city three days in a row. Biking was one of those things that he often forgot could trigger flares, mainly because he didn’t usually go far enough for it to be an issue. Short rides while standing on the pedals didn’t usually do much damage — but longer rides, all the way to Westmount, it seemed, were another story. 

It’s kind of shit, really. He’d sorta been looking forward to taking his bike to work. The ride was pretty nice and the weather lately has been prime for outdoor transit. He also didn’t really want to pay for public transit for the next couple months.

It’s probably not worth it, though. Not if long bike rides led to _this_ of all things. “This” being exactly what he’d been trying so hard to avoid the past few months. And it had been working! Really well, in fact. Lance should have known it was a little too good to be true. 

He knows he’s maybe supposed to climb with Keith tomorrow, but he seriously doesn’t even want to think about climbing right now. He’s not sure when he’ll even be able to again.

So, here he is, lying on the couch after downing a couple prescription pain meds that didn’t do all that much good, too mentally fogged to try paying attention to a book or show and counting down the minutes until Pidge comes home. Having company always makes flares better. 

When she arrives, her tiny frame hauling an extra large pack of toilet paper and several boxes of baking soda (damn, she always plans ahead), he gives her a weak smile. 

“What do you need?” she asks immediately, dropping everything right in the hall. 

“Uhh,” Lance cringes, wracking his brain for something as he ignores the throbbing pressure in his gut. “I dunno.”

“You don’t have water?”

“Forgot,” he shrugs. He knows he should be drinking continuously, but it’s honestly really easy to forget that shit. It’ll also make him pee more, so there’s that. And he really has zero desire to go to the bathroom more than he already has today. 

“Bath?” Pidge asks, waving a box of baking soda at him. 

“Yeah,” he grins at her, inhaling and sitting up with a little effort. “Yeah, good idea.”

It’s almost like a little tradition at this point. Pidge (or Hunk, depending on who’s home) will help him draw a salt bath with baking soda added in, and then hang out with him in the bathroom for, like, an hour or something. It’s honestly really nice for a number of reasons, and Lance is especially grateful that being naked around Pidge isn’t weird at all, given how unfazed she is by nudity in general. 

It’s something Veronica used to do with him back when he lived with his parents and his flares had just started. She hasn’t been around for it in a couple years since she moved to Toronto for a job, but it’s cool thanks to the weird surrogate family he made for himself at the apartment. 

He can hear Pidge drawing his bath by the time he goes and puts on his bathrobe. His phone vibrates on his bed, and he leans over to peek at the screen.

 **Keith**  
6:42 PM  
>Hey Pidge is coming over later, wan…

Huh. His stomach flutters a little at the prospect of Keith actually _inviting_ him to hang out, but he’s not really into the whole idea of going to someone’s apartment in the throws of a flare. Especially someone he sort of wants to keep in the dark about the more… unpleasant aspects of his condition. 

He’s always been a little private when it comes to this sort of thing. And Keith’s not exactly one of his best friends, he reasons, so he doesn’t really need to know everything, yet. Lance knows he talked about it with Keith, briefly at the comp. But he’d kind of laughed it off to avoid getting into it, and if Keith’s anything like the average person completely unfamiliar with IC, then he probably didn’t think much of it. 

Lance wants to keep a sort of semblance of not being a total mess, is all he’s saying. Hunk, Pidge, and his entire family love him dearly but have definitely seen him at his worst, and it’s kind of nice to have a blank slate with someone new. Or, a sort of blank slate. His first encounter with Keith at the gym was definitely not one of his proudest moments, but at least it had worked out fine. He doesn’t hate him at least, probably.

“You hanging out with Keith later?” Lance asks Pidge, stepping into the bathroom and hanging up his bathrobe. She’s still drawing a bath, checking the water temperature from the tap. He takes the opportunity to get a final pee in. 

“Probably not, honestly, not with you like this.” She grabs the baking soda and starts pouring some in the tub.

“I’m a big boy, you know, I can take care of myself,” Lance says a little bitterly, wincing at the sharp pain that comes with pissing in this state. 

Pidge snorts. “I know that. You’d be fine on your own, but you’d be bored as shit — and when you’re bored _and_ in pain, you get sad. And then I’d feel like a terrible friend.” She looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. “And Hunk’s not home either. He’d feel even worse if he knew.”

Lance inhales sharply, shivering a little as he finishes up. He feels pretty exposed at the moment, but it’s nothing Pidge hasn’t seen before if he’s being real with himself.

“Keith said something about inviting you too, though,” she adds as an afterthought. “I was at work and I figured I’d let him text you.”

“He did,” Lance says, getting into the tub. He sighs, leaning his head back and bringing a hand to his lower abdomen, pressing a little to get the tension out. Damn. Salt baths are fucking great. 

“I figured we could invite him over instead, if you’re up to it?” Pidge shrugs from where she’s sitting against the tub. “No pressure though, up to you.”

Lance furrows his brow, genuinely conflicted at that. On the one hand, he kind of, sort of, a little bit wants to see Keith again. On the other, he doesn’t want Keith to see him like this. He doesn’t want to worry about what Keith would be thinking and yet too afraid to vocalize. It’d be too much, too soon.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

She nods. “I’ll tell him you’re sick.” It’s not a total lie — it’s the wording they use to avoid explaining these kinds of situations to people on the “outside.” For all her teasing, Pidge respects Lance’s privacy when it’s important to him. It’s something he’s always been endlessly grateful for. 

“I’ll make dinner, and we can grab ice cream from the dep after.” 

Lance grins at her. “Sounds like a fucking lit Saturday night.” 

She laughs, squeezing his forearm where it’s resting on the lip of the tub. “Wouldn’t spend it any other way.” 

They lock eyes, and Lance has one of those fleeting, brief moments where he wishes he could just fall in love with Pidge or Hunk and have the kind of relationship they have now but with romance and shit. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of it, though Hunk is straight as an arrow and Pidge wouldn’t touch romance with a ten-foot pole. Still, he’s routinely gone through cycles of hopelessly crushing hard on one of them at some point or another, and it always goes away as quickly as it comes after a few weird, confusing days. Lance figured it was just his thing — he’s always loved intensely, be it friends, family, partners. It’s always been all or nothing with him, and sometimes with his friends, the boundary between friend love and romantic love gets blurred a little. 

It’s okay, though. Lance supposes that maybe those two things aren’t all that different. It may be four years since he’s had a proper relationship, but he’s never felt a lack of love around him. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Pidge chides, eyeing him skeptically. “Don’t fall in love with me again. That was weird.”

“Piiiiiiidge,” Lance whines, leaning his head back on the tiled wall. “I fall in love with everyone. You’re not _special_.” 

“Wow. I’m flattered,” she deadpans, resting her elbows on the tub. “What about Keith?”

Lance shoots her a look. 

“I’m not making fun of you, seriously.” She scoots closer to his side of the tub. “I’m really not, I’m just curious ‘cause you’re my friend, and he’s my friend, and I dunno. You seemed to like talking to him, after you spent, like, an hour hiding from us the other nigh —”

“I dunno,” Lance answers honestly, barely looking at her. She raises her eyebrows at that, probably a little shocked that he didn’t dive deep into denial territory like usual. But he’s tired, and in pain, and Pidge is genuinely asking out of curiosity. So he figures he owes her that much. 

“I thought about it, sorta. But…” he trails off, wincing a little at a sharp bit of pressure in his lower belly. He sighs, bringing his head back to the wall once again. “I don’t know him. Like, at all, really. And I’m just tired of shit not working out, you know? I’m, like, a _lot_ to deal with, and some people can’t handle that and it’s fine. But I’m sorta sick of giving my time and energy to people I don’t know on the off chance they’ll fall in love with me. It just sorta makes me feel like crap when it doesn’t work out.”

That’s it, really. He’s not lying, or hiding anything from her. Lying takes more effort than he’s willing to give right now.

“I know he’s hot, and I know we’ve already had sex, and I know we’re getting along and stuff. But maybe we’re getting along ‘cause I’m not trying to bone him?” 

Pidge hums. “Fair, honestly. I totally see your point.”

They sit in comfortable silence a moment, Pidge idly running her fingers through the bathwater. 

"You're not a lot to deal with, you know."

Lance scoffs.

"I'm serious!" Pidge fixes him with a look he can't exactly ignore. "Do you have any idea how fucking complicated everyone is? _Everyone_ has issues, Lance. It's not just you. I'm not 'dealing' with you, you're not a burden. I'm just doing what comes natural because I love you, kay?"

Lance isn't totally sure what his face is doing, but it's probably something really embarrassing given how Pidge is smirking at him right about now. 

"You're gonna meet someone one day that won't think you're too much. They're gonna love you and you're gonna love them warts and all."

Lance's throat feels a little tight and his eyes feel a little wet. All the pain from today might be making him a little tired and emotional, okay? Sue him. He has feelings.

"You sure you're aro?" he asks in the interest of deflecting. 

Pidge's expression flattens.

"Cause, like, I kinda wanna kiss you right ——"

"I'm touched. Really." She grunts, crossing her arms. “You’re thirsty.”

“I’m not thirsty!”

“Even if I wasn’t, this literally the least romantic situation ever, Lance. You’re completely naked, clutching your bladder in pain and taking a bath while I’m just sitting here on the fucking floor —”

“I love you too,” Lance interrupts. He smirks. “And thank you.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and completely failing at masking the fond smile tugging at her lips. “Anytime, buddy.”

~~~

Keith hasn't heard from Lance all week by the time Sunday rolls around — a week after their supposed plans to climb together. Pidge had mentioned something about him being sick the weekend before, and Keith supposed that maybe he was just recovering. Still, it was a little eerie to not hear anything from him at all, and as much as he doesn't want to, he starts doubting whether they really got along at all in the first place.

His doubts are sort of put to rest, however, when Keith gets a text from him Saturday afternoon. The moment he hears his phone buzz, he leans over from where he’s working to glimpse at his phone screen.

 **Lance**  
3:43 PM  
>hey man! climb tomorrow afternoon?

Huh, Keith thinks as he tinkers with some brakes on a bike. His hands are kind of filthy and greasy at the moment, so he can't really answer right away. He returns to the task at hand, trying not too hard to think about the fact that Lance just invited him to climb one on one.

~~~

“Oh my god, Hunk, he hates me. He’s not answering —”

“It’s been five minutes. Also, why do you care?” Hunk smirks. “I thought you ‘weren’t interested’?”

“I’m not!” Lance retorts, indignant. He crosses his arms, plunking his ass down on their sofa. “I just had a rough week, okay? And I didn’t answer his last text so he probably thinks I hate him or something.”

“Dude, you took a week to answer a text and you’re freaking out over _5 minutes_?”

Lance grumbles something unintelligible that even he can’t fully understand. He’s just really irritated ‘cause he’s been had bladder pain for a week (not to mention the added bonus of caffeine withdrawal headaches) and he only _just_ started feeling better the day before. Sure, climbing tomorrow might not be the best idea but he’s doing okay again and he’s going fucking _stir-crazy_. He’s just not used to not exercising for a week, okay?

“He’ll answer soon, buddy. Don’t worry.” Hunk offers him a sympathetic smile. “Wanna go to the park?”

“Okay,” Lance mumbles. He sighs and gets up, following Hunk to their rooms to grab his shit.

~~~

“ _Oh fuck_ ” Keith mutters, jumping for his phone. He’d forgotten to answer Lance after work — and now it’s 10 PM, and they hadn’t finalized any climbing plans for the next day. Keith curses his forgetfulness and turns off the faucet, placing his final dirty dish in the rack. He scrambles for his texting app and types out a quick reply to Lance.

 **Lance**  
10:14 PM

  
>Sounds good. Is 3 ok?  


He sets his phone on the counter. A second later, he reaches over and flips it face down, so as not to see whether he’s got any texts coming in. Keith is vaguely aware of how silly this is — he’s not a teenager worrying whether Max Galbraith will answer his late-night messages about math homework anymore. He’s a grown-ass man now, and it’s silly to be rattled by this sort of thing.

Keith finishes wiping his counters and calls Kosmo for his nighttime walk. He toys with the idea of leaving his phone at home to avoid caring too much. If he leaves it, though, then he’d be stuck wondering whether Lance had seen his message. If he takes it with him, then maybe it’ll be better — he’ll be able to check. 

Keith groans, running a palm down his face. Is this really what his life has come to? Is this really what making friends is like? He feels kind of dumb, and settles on a third option — calling Shiro while he makes his way around the neighborhood.

“Hey,” he speaks into his headphones, using both hands to hold Kosmo’s leash as he makes his way down the front steps of his second-story, triplex apartment. His dog is wagging his tail eagerly, positively drooling out of excitement. 

“ _Hey, Keith. What’s up?_ ”

“Not much, I’m walking Kosmo and I wanted company.”

“ _Really?_ ” Shiro sound skeptical. Fuck him, honestly. “ _You don’t have anything else on your mind?_ ”

“No,” Keith grumbles. He pauses at a tree, giving Kosmo the chance to sniff all the collected dog piss at its base. 

“ _Come on. Spill._ ”

“Can’t I just call you while I walk my dog without you questioning my motives?”

“ _Keith, you hate phone calls._ ”

“How was your evening?” Keith deflects, his voice kind of monotone. He knows Shiro’s right, and he knows Shiro knows he’s right, but he doesn’t want to give him any satisfaction. He’d called him to avoid the thoughts swirling in his head — not to confront them. Confronting them would be ridiculous.

Shiro takes a moment to answer. Keith can picture him smirking. 

“ _It was really nice, actually. Curtis had a date with a woman he met at yoga, and Adam and I ordered indian food and watched half a season of Arrested Development._ ”

“Sounds like a normal Saturday night for you guys.”

Shiro chuckles. “ _It was. Curtis brought her over afterward to play cards, and I think he and Adam are still sleeping with her, but I wouldn’t know. I’m getting some reading done in the office with my noise cancelling headphones._ ”

“Damn,” Keith mumbles, stopping again at a fire hydrant to let Kosmo go to town. “You didn’t want in on the action?”

“ _I dunno, the older I get the more I feel too gay for group sex with women._ ”

“I really, really, couldn’t relate less,” Keith grunts. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“ _Couldn’t relate less, eh?_ ” Shiro repeats, amused. “ _That mean you’re feeling up to sleeping with women?_ ”

“Wha — no, Shiro, you know what I meant.” Keith furrows his brow, watching Kosmo take a massive dump at the base of the fire hydrant. 

Shiro laughs, more audibly this time. “ _When I was your age, I couldn’t picture myself in this kind of arrangement either. But I’ve never felt closer to my partners than I do now._ ”

“Right now?” Keith says, bending down to bag Kosmo’s poop. “While they’re probably spit-roasting some yoga lady?”

Shiro lets out a characteristic manly giggle. “ _Yes, right now._ ”

“Isn’t Adam gay? I’m having trouble keeping up.”

“ _He is, but it doesn’t stop him. He likes the idea of seeing Curtis with another person._ ”

“Makes sense, given the triad thing.”

“ _True._ ” Shiro hums. “ _You didn’t call me to hear me talk about this, though._ ”

Keith groans, standing up again and continuing down the street. “I wanted a distraction.”

“ _From what?_ ”

“Anxiety.” Keith knows pulling the anxiety card should keep Shiro off his back, even though he’s not feeling particularly bad at the moment. The whole thing with anxiety is that it’s not rational, and Shiro knows better than to try and engage with it. Still, his jitters over whether or not Lance will answer him don’t seem to be coming from a place of worry — it’s more of an uncomfortable excitement, if Keith’s being honest. And he has absolutely no fucking clue what to do with that.

“ _Ah, okay. Nevermind, then._ ”

Keith exhales, stopping at an intersection to wait for the light. Kosmo sits patiently at his heel.

“ _Have you heard from Lance, yet? Is he feeling better?_ ”

 _Fuck_ , Keith thinks. He forgot that he told Shiro about how Lance was apparently sick the weekend before, and how he hadn’t heard from him. He curses his lack of foresight — he should have known Shiro would remember.

“He asked if I wanna climb tomorrow.” 

Keith hears a tweeting noise, coming from his headphones. He scrambles for his phone, ignoring the light turning green in favour of checking his messages. 

**Lance**  
10:25 PM  
>Sure thing! See you :)

Keith smiles involuntarily at the message, clutching his phone close to his face. After what could be a kind of embarrassingly long time, Kosmo starts pawing at his foot and Shiro’s voice comes back into focus. 

“ _—eith? Hello?_

“Hey, hi, sorry,” He mumbles, stuffing his phone in his pocket and starting to walk again. “I got a text. What were you saying?”

“ _I wasn’t saying anything. You said Lance asked you to climb —_ ”

“Yeah, right. I, uh, we’re going climbing tomorrow.”

“ _And you didn’t invite me? I wonder why._ ”

“Shiro.”

“ _I’m just saying, I feel a little left out. You always invite me._ ”

“No I don’t.”

“ _I guess I’ll go alone then. Maybe we’ll run into each other. I’d be nice to see Lance again._ ”

“Don’t you dare,” Keith spits out before he can help himself. He cringes.

“ _Oh_ ,” is all Shiro responds with. Keith can almost see his dumb shit-eating grin. “ _Okay._ ”

Keith doesn’t say anything. He keeps walking, this time more in the direction of his apartment. 

“ _Keith, I really don’t want to bug you —_ ”

He sighs audibly. “But?”

“ _But maybe it would be good to talk it out. Doesn’t need to be now, or ever really, but think about it. I’ve been where you are. Remember how long I ignored how I felt about Adam before we got together?_ ”

“Lance and I aren’t you and Adam.”

“ _I know,_ ” Shiro says, chuckling. “ _But maybe I wasn’t the best influence. Maybe you picked things up, is all I’m saying._ ”

Keith scrunches up his face, tugging a little at Kosmo’s leash to pull him away from a small bit of garbage on the street. He can already feel himself caving.

“ _I’m… looking forward to it. A little._ ” That tiny admission already took an incredible amount of effort. Keith’s not sure how much juice he has left for further conversation.

Shiro hums in thought. “ _You know that fish and chips place near the gym?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _Great post-climb food. Matt brought me, once, and I’ve gone a ton of times since. And last I checked, there are no tomatoes in fish and chips._ ”

Keith’s mouth twists uncontrollably, unable to suppress the slight twinge of excitement he gets at the prospect of getting a meal with Lance. Fuck Shiro, honestly. Why is he so good at this.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, still kind of, sort of smiling.

“ _Anytime, bud._ ”

. . .

Lance is a full twenty minutes late. It’s really not helping Keith’s nerves, not one bit. He occupies himself in the stretching area, trying to lubricate all his joints and do all the dynamic stretches from that video Shiro sent him. This part is boring, but he knows he’ll climb better because of it. Thankfully, there are some new problems on the wall that he can look at and think about, which will hopefully give his mind something to occupy itself with for the time being. 

He almost wishes he had brought Kosmo. Keith toyed with the idea of bringing his dog along, but he sort of knew he might use him as a little bit of a crutch. Sure, it was literally Kosmo’s job to be emotionally supportive, but he kind of wanted to force himself to talk to Lance on his own, without a cute animal as a buffer. 

He ended up leaving Kosmo at his mom’s for a sleepover. She really enjoys overcompensating for all her hands-off parenting by doting on Kosmo like a smothersome grandmother. It’s kind of cute, though, and Keith’s not complaining. It means he’s got a willing dog sitter anytime he wants. 

Just as Keith positions himself in a deep downward dog pose, he catches sight of Lance entering the gym from where his head is upside down, facing between his legs. Lance is noticeably more relaxed than every other time Keith’s seen him here. He strolls up to Allura at the desk, seems to make small talk, and quickly walks up the steps.

Keith brings his knees to the floor and sits back on his haunches. He raises his hand a little awkwardly, hoping to catch Lance’s eye and give him a wave, but his sort-of friend just zooms by, whistling on his way to the cubbies. Damn. Okay, looks like this climbing date is off to a great start.

Lance reemerges into view a couple minutes later, swinging his shoes and chalk bag and scanning the room, all confused. He spots Keith after a moment, and his face lights up. Dang. That shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“Hey!” Lance walks over and takes a spot next to Keith, setting his gear down and starting some shoulder rolls. Keith smiles, and raises an eyebrow.

“Hey. Someone’s late.”

“I’m late?” Lance freezes mid-roll and whips his head around at the wall clock. “Oh dang, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s cool.”

“Lost track of time —”

“Really,” Keith emphasizes, a small grin pulling at his lips. “It’s fine. It happens.” Lance is admittedly kind of cute when he’s a little flustered, and Keith really doesn’t have the heart to mind one bit. 

Lance shoots him a small smile as he starts his arms stretches. “So, uh, have a good week?”

“Yeah. You feeling better?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah! Yeah, I am.” Lance smiles, though he seems a little distracted. He averts his eyes and scans the room. Huh. Keith’s kind of curious about what he was sick with, but he figures it’s best not to pry. 

“Do you know what you wanna work on?” he asks instead, figuring he’d divert the conversation before he gets too curious.

Lance squints, eyeing the right hand corner of the small wall. He points. “That wall, the one they set last week. I haven’t figured out that yellow problem with the artichoke-shaped holds yet.”

“Oh yeah, that one’s kind of weird.”

“I feel like I’ll get it today, though. And then I wanna try that orange one with the slopers.”

“Cool,” Keith grins. “I wanna do that one too. Haven’t tried it yet.”

“Oh really?” Lance smirks. “You’re gonna stay up here on the small wall with us plebs?”

Keith shrugs. “I should probably work on my technique. I haven’t really trained much in corner problems.”

“Oh yeah? Am I rubbing off on you?”

“Heh, I wish.” It takes Keith approximately two seconds before his brain catches up with him, and when it does, he nearly chokes, eyes bulging in realization. Lance just kind of twitches and cocks his head, apparently confused. _Fuck_ , now is _not_ the time for freudian slips — they’ve been hanging out for literally forty-five seconds.

“I’m gonna start,” Keith mumbles abruptly, pushing himself up on his feet and walking the short distance to the edge of the mat, the back of his skull burning at where Lance is probably boring his eyes into his skull. He’s determined not to look back, too afraid of knowing what Lance’s face might be doing now. Well. That was fucking embarassing.

He warms up on a couple green problems, and Lance joins him after a few minutes. 

“Hey, man,” he says to Keith, evidently relaxed. He blows a couple times onto his chalked-up hands and steps onto the mat, shaking out his limbs. Lance effortlessly sends a green problem that sort of traverses the wall, ending with a very small jump. Instead of jumping off, he immediately retraces his steps, climbing back the way he came, only using holds that are part of the problem. 

“Huh, I should do that.”

“It’s good practice,” Lance says, dismounting the mat. “It’s also a little harder to control your movement when you’re descending. Good for training those antagonistic muscles.” He grins.

“Alright, nerd,” Keith scoffs. He chalks up his hands, smirking as Lance gasps in mock offense, and walks up to the wall to execute this one yellow problem that’s easy enough to use as a warmup. The starting footholds are on either side of a corner, requiring him to begin with his legs spaced out, hands pushing on the one starting handhold. Keith reaches upward onto the next few holds on the overhanging volume and swings his body around, both feet leaving the wall. His left foot hooks onto the top of the volume — essentially placing him almost upside-down, and he reaches for the next hold with a little effort. He hears a laugh from down below.

“You’re so extra, that’s such a useless toe-hook,” Lance says, all cocky and confident with his arms crossed. “You’re literally not using the footholds because you wanna be a showoff.”

“Am not,” Keith grunts, his neck twisted awkwardly to face Lance down below. Quickly, though, he realizes the predicament he’s gotten himself into.

“I’m stuck,” he mumbles after a moment. Lance sputters out a laugh.

“You can’t move ‘cause your foot his hooked. You don’t have leverage.”

Keith grunts again, taking his foot off the volume and jumping down, rolling onto his butt. He pouts. “I’ve done that one before.”

“Not like that, you didn’t. That’s definitely not the beta.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Okay, not like that.”

“See?” Lance grins sweetly, offering him a hand to get up. Keith swats it away defiantly, smirking as he ambles off the mat. “I’m an expert. You should listen to me.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m cocky for a reason.”

“I’m sorry, you’ve been climbing again for, what, a month and a half?” 

“Not counting all the years of hyperfixation, my dude. I’ve literally watched every YouTube tutorial there is. Twice. And I didn’t stop while I was taking a break.”

Keith rolls his eyes, vaguely aware of a slight pull tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I’d buy it if you spent less time talking to me and more time on the wall.”

Lance huffs out a laugh, shaking his head before grinning back at Keith. “Alright, buddy. Watch and learn.”

. . .

“How do you know Shiro?”

Keith smiles a little, picking at the strap of his climbing shoes. They’re talking a short break, sitting on the floor with their backs against the mat.

“He was my mentor for this Big Brothers and Big Sisters program thing when I was in high school. I was kind of a little shit and my mom had no clue what to do with me, so it seemed like the best idea.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance grins. “My older brother Marco did that a while back, I think. He’s still friends with the guy he mentored.”

Keith nods. “It’s a really good program, it really turned things around.” He’s not quite sure why he’s feeling so open right now, but much of this whole saga seems really distant to him, as a fully-fledged adult. “I was kind of antisocial and I was always getting into fights and breaking into private property. Shiro was my first really good friend, and he really levelled with me like I was an equal. He didn’t just see me as some dumb kid.”

“And you’re still friends,” Lance muses. “That’s pretty sweet. 

Keith chuckles. “Yeah. He’s like family at this point.”

“And you know Pidge through Matt, right?”

“Yeah, Matt and Shiro met in CEGEP and had been friends a few years by the time I met Shiro. He started bringing me to hang out with his friends once I was legal and the whole program was over. Sometimes Matt would bring Pidge, and we’d hang out cause we were young and awkward and didn’t know how to socialize.”

Lance laughs a little. “Sounds about right.”

“She’s mentioned you,” Keith adds, before he can help it. “Now that I think of it. She talked about her friends Hunk and Lance a bunch, but I’ve never really seen her super regularly, so I kinda didn’t realize it at first.”

“She’s mentioned you too.” When Keith looks up from his shoe, he realizes how awfully close Lance’s face is to his from where the sides of their arms are pressed up together. It doesn’t make much sense, honestly. There’s a lot of room to spread out around here — it’s not like the gym is busy, or anything.

“She called you ‘Cryptid Keith,’” Lance adds, laughing and looking at the wall once again. “‘Cause you like aliens, or some shit.”

Keith scoffs, his train of thought halting in its tracks. “I don’t _like_ aliens, I just think they’ve probably already found us and there’s nothing we can do about it.” He crosses his arms, suddenly embarrassed. “There’s evidence, you know.”

Lance looks back at him, amused. “Alright, mister conspiracy theorist.”

“It’s not a conspiracy theory. Conspiracy theories are bullshit.”

Lance pauses, searching his face. “I feel like if I get you started you’re not gonna stop, eh?”

Keith’s mouth curls into a smile. “Maybe.”

“Then let’s keep climbing, and maybe later you can go off about cryptids, or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, trying not to let his stomach flutter at the implication that there might be a “later” after this.

. . .

“How’d you meet Hunk and Pidge?”

Lance smirks, rubbing the back of his neck. “I met Hunk in high school, and he knew Pidge ‘cause they played D&D together at the Benny Library. Not sure when she started hanging out with us, but it sorta just happened.”

“That’s really cute,” Keith says, smiling. He takes a sip from his water bottle.

“Yeah. There was kind of a point, though, where we… didn’t hang out as much.” Lance furrows his brow, averting his eyes. “We weren’t as close in undergrad, for a bit. We sort of had our own things going on. But we reconnected around four years ago, and we’ve been super tight ever since.”

Keith kind of feels like there’s a story there. He can’t really help it, based on the way Lance seems to deflate just a tad. He shouldn’t ask though. Not here.

“You guys seem to have a good thing going on,” is what he opts for instead.

“Yeah,” Lance nods, his face brightening up a little. “Yeah, we do.”

. . .

“Shit, dude,” Lance says, looking at the clock on the far end of the gym. “We’ve been here for three hours.”

“Wha?” Keith halts in the middle of his stairs, hitching his drawstring gym back up his shoulder. He eyes the clock, displaying “6:15 PM” in red digital numbers. That can’t be right — he usually spends two hours at the gym at most, and usually only on days when Shiro joins him. 

“Guess we got caught up,” Lance smirks, before turning heading over to the shoe cubbies.

Huh. Time kinda flew by, but now that Keith thinks of it, they did cover a lot of ground. Keith learned that Lance has two sisters and two brothers (he can’t remember all their names off the top of his head, but he’ll figure that out eventually), that his parents are still together, that his niece and nephew are Marco’s kids, and that he grew up in Côte-des-neiges, right off Victoria street. 

He learned that Lance’s parents immigrated here soon after Marco and Veronica were born. His first language is Spanish, his second language is French because of Bill 101, and his third is English. His accent is pretty flawless, though, in both English and French, and Keith is a little jealous. He _definitely_ still feels kind of awkward speaking French, even though his dad was queb as fuck. Going through the English school system and having only anglo friends your entire life tends to do that. 

They’d talked a lot, mostly about light, normal stuff, and Keith found it all surprisingly easy. He didn’t really want things to end, yet. But that would require asking Lance to get _dinner_ — and Keith’s not sure what that would look like. 

He trails after Lance, awkwardly hovering by him as he slips on his shoes. Taking a deep breath, he gears himself up for —

“Wanna get food?” Lance offers, nonchalantly. “I’m super hungry.”

“Buh — okay,” Keith stammers. Well. That was easy.

“Not sure where, though,” Lance continues, waving at Lotor at the desk and exiting the gym into the hot summer evening air. Keith follows him. “There are too many good options around here, I can never decide.”

“Uh, Shiro said the fish and chips place was good.”

“Cool! I’m down,” Lance grins. Keith tries not to get _too_ excited.

. . .

“Sooo, what’s up with Shiro’s ‘husbands?’” Lance asks slyly, taking a sip of his beer. “Like… what does that mean?”

Keith chuckles, dipping a fry in some curry mayo. “They’re not actually married, but Shiro’s got two live-in partners. He’s been with Adam for nearly a decade, and they met Curtis a few years ago. They’re a triad.”

“Damn.” Lance picks off a piece of his fish and pops it into his mouth. “People in their 30s are so cool.”

“Yeah. It’s also sort of an open arrangement, ‘cause Curtis likes going on dates with other people, and they sometimes like bringing a fourth person into bed.”

“Wow, they must be so fucking organized,” Lance sighs. “And I can barely remember to feed myself lunch.”

Keith laughs again, taking a sip of his own amber ale. “It’s weird, sometimes. They like doting on me as a unit, as if I were their son or something.”

“Aw, that’s pretty cute,” Lance laughs. “It’s cool though, sometimes Hunk and Pidge joke that I’m their son, cause I need to be reminded to eat and clean my room.”

“So, you’re a mess.”

“Hey.” Lance points a fry at Keith. “It’s okay because I’m pretty.” He winks.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Alright, nerd.”

“Hey —”

“Library school nerd.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

. . .

“When did you come out?” Lance asks, his cheek propped up in his palm, elbow resting on the wooden countertop. They’re nearly halfway through nursing their second pints, and Keith is feeling only very _moderately_ buzzed.

He purses his lips, trying to remember. “When I was fifteen? Or maybe sixteen. I told Shiro first and he was cool about it, obviously. I knew he was gay already, so I felt real safe talking to him.”

“It’s super cool that you had him to talk to.”

“Yeah.” Keith smiles down at his hands, poking at his glass. “It was honestly really easy afterward. All the hard stuff came before, ‘cause, like, kids are assholes, yaknow?”

Lance inhales, a smile pulling at his mouth. “Yep, I know. I always thought I was weird growing up ‘cause all the other kids felt so different from me, but I had no clue why. I thought I might have secretly been an alien or something. Turns out, I’m just bi and have ADHD.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow, grinning. “I also totally thought I was an alien. It was probably a coping mechanism, I dunno.”

“Heh, probably. It was for me.”

Keith runs his finger along the rim of his glass, vaguely aware that Lance’s knee might slightly, sort of be pressing against his own. It’s nothing, really, and it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. But it’s kind of hard to ignore. 

“What about you?” Keith manages to get out, hoping to distract himself.

“What about me?”

“When did you come out?”

Lance bites his lips together and looks back at his drink. “Three years ago? Maybe? But I guess I’m not fully “out,” yet.”

Keith tilts his head. “Oh?”

“I told Hunk first, then Pidge. And for a while they were the only ones that knew. I wasn’t really dating dudes cause it seemed so much harder, so I kinda postponed the whole “coming out” thing cause I sort of didn’t feel queer enough to claim that label, you know?”

“No,” Keith says, brow furrowing. “I don’t really know what that’s like.”

“It’s a bi thing. Or, like, anyone who’s attracted to more than one gender.” Lance pauses, toying with the edge of a napkin. “I feel like it can be common to gaslight ourselves, and think we need to prove how queer we are in order to believe it ourselves. You know, ‘cause of how we ‘pass’ for straight sometimes. It’s some internalized bullshit, but people who refuse to date us don’t help, so...”

“Biphobia is a thing.”

“It’s a thing. But I’ve sorted out a lot of the internal stuff. And when Veronica told me she was bi, we ended up having a lot of long talks about it, so… that was real validating. Yeah.” 

Lance takes a moment, eyes kind of distant and fond. He chuckles and takes a sip of his beer — and Keith tries his damndest not to zero-in on the way his lips curl around the rip of the glass, and the way he licks his upper lip when he lets go. 

“I haven’t told my _entire_ family, but my immediate family knows, so. I figured they were most important.”

“Huh. That’s good, I’m glad to hear that.” Keith leans back in his chair, studying their beers. Their glasses are almost empty, compelling him to suggest moving to another location where they can stay longer without taking up space from people who want to eat a meal. He has no fucking clue how long it’s been at this point — but the sun seems like it might be setting soon, so it can’t be all _that_ late. 

Besides, Keith is really, _really_ enjoying this. He feels like he’s just soaking up all this information about Lance like a parched sponge, and he can’t get enough. 

“Wanna go somewhere else?” Lance suggests, as if reading his mind. “After we finish?” Keith can’t really read his expression at all. He decides to roll with it. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m down.”

~~~

 _This is fine_ , Lance thinks to himself as he and Keith order another pint at a brasserie a few blocks away. He’s already taken two Prelief capsules, and he doesn’t have any more on hand. But the more his buzz intensifies, the less it seems to matter.

 _This is super fine,_ he says to himself after they order seconds. He downs two whole pints of water while Keith is in the bathroom, hoping it’ll at least help a little bit.

 _This is so completely and utterly fine_ , Lance tries to remind himself when Keith slots their legs together, knees positioned conveniently between each others’ thighs. He repeats it again in his head, like a mantra, when Keith’s hand brushes his knee on accident.

 _This is the most fine I have ever been in my entire life, thank you very much,_ Lance mumbles, probably out loud, right after he offers to walk Keith home.

“What?” Keith asks, eyes kind of glazed over.

“Uh, nothing,” Lance huffs before getting off his barstool and heading to the bathroom for a final pee.

 _This is really, really okay_ , he thinks, when Keith invites him inside for coffee to sober up. It’s not even _that_ late yet, he reasons. And they both don’t work Mondays anyway. 

Unfortunately for him, though, Lance accidentally positions himself way too close to Keith as he fiddles with the door lock. He’s aware that he’s kind of looming — head lax, eyes mildly unfocused in a drunken haze as he watches the back of Keith’s head. When he opens the door and steps back, his body hits Lance’s chest. 

More instinctively than anything, Lance raises a hand up to Keith’s waist to steady himself. He holds it there. And he holds it. And he’s not moving and Keith’s body is radiating heat and _why is he not moving his hand, what is going on —_

“Lance?” Keith breathes out, barely above a whisper. His head turns to the side, and Lance decides that’s the biggest mistake so far. Because having Keith’s face this close to his own is exactly what makes him snap.

He leans in, eyes flickering up to Keith’s to make sure this isn’t some complete misunderstanding. Thankfully, Keith’s eyes flutter shut and he moves forward too. And the second Lance captures Keith’s lips, his body grows a mind of its own.

 _This,_ He thinks, _is probably not a good idea._

He walks forward, pushing Keith into the apartment against his front, and spins his body around to wrap his arms around his torso as their lips crash together once again. Once the door slams shut, Keith pushes him against it and runs his hands up the sides of his neck. He grips Lance’s hair at the root, tugging his head back. Keith sucks on his jaw and places open-mouthed kisses against his neck before returning to his mouth, lips parting and making way for their tongues to come through. 

They fight their way to the couch, dropping their climbing bags and nearly tripping a couple times before falling back. Lance positions himself on top of Keith and grinds down between his legs, making him shudder. It’s wildly good, and Lance is only vaguely aware of the potentially embarrassing noises leaving his mouth. 

The second time he rolls his hips, though, things are decidedly not so good. He feels a sharp pain twist up his groin, hitting him in the gut as he topples forward clumsily onto Keith. It’s enough to almost completely sober him up, parting the clouds of his drunken fog to snap him back to a reality where he just made a _lot_ of risky choices that now seem to be biting him in the ass. 

“Keith —” he tries, whispering into his ear. Keith continues mouthing at his neck, completely lost already. “Keith, Keith, I’m sorry, I need to stop —”

He pushes himself up stiffly and sits back on his haunches between Keith’s legs. He brings a hand to his lower abdomen, intaking a sharp breath and exhaling it all controlled. “I’m sorry, I just —”

“‘S fine,” Keith slurs eyes half-lidded, lips a little red and slick. He paws at Lance’s knee. “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just — I need to lie down.”

“Okay,” Keith answers, unquestioning. “Come.”

He takes his hand and leads him toward the bedroom with wobbly steps, guiding Lance to the mattress one quick motion. Once Lance plops himself down, Keith falls against the bed as well, scooting himself up to the pillow. He closes his eyes and nuzzles it a little, movement slowing down to a full stop after a few seconds. Lance feels incredibly drowsy as well, despite the growing problem in his urinary tract. He falls back on the sheets and takes a couple deep breaths. 

“I’m sorry, Keith, I just —” 

Lance pauses, met with the sight of Keith fully asleep against his pillow, still in his climbing clothes. His hair’s pretty messed up, ends struggling to break free of the bun. It’s such an adorable sight, honestly, that Lance can’t help but to reach over and push some of that soft shag behind Keith’s ear. He hums a little in response, before returning to blissful sleep. 

Lance smiles, despite himself. He’s going to have to deal with a lot of shit come morning, no doubt. But for now, he’s content to just stay here — waiting for sleep to consume him as he quiets the pain as much as he can, blessed with the view of Keith sleeping incredibly peacefully in the faint light of the moon through the window. 

_Damn,_ Lance thinks. 

He totally should have seen this coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started leaning hard into the Montreal angle. Every single location the characters go to is based on a real place. There is actually a gnocchi shop next to an ice cream place near my climbing gym. The fish and chips restaurant is real, too. I could legit host a walking tour based on this story hahahahahaha (dm me if interested.)
> 
> Final PSA: Remember to re-bookmark/kudo/subscribe if you wanna keep getting notifs about my updates! Sorry about the deleting drama, and thank you for sticking around :)
> 
> Glossary:  
>  **dynamic stretches** : stretches that involve movement - ie. shoulder rolls, leg or arm swings, anything that involves rotating your joints. These are the best things to do to warm up your body for a climb.  
>  **beta** : kind of like the "solution" for a problem - the set of movements required to complete it.  
>  **Big Brothers and Big Sisters of Montreal** : I'm sure this exists in other cities too, but it's a real program where an adult mentor is paired with a kid in school who's experiencing some degree of difficulty in life. They meet twice a month and hang out a few hours, super casual.  
>  **Cote-des-neiges** : The neighborhood I grew up in. CDN boasts a really high immigrant population, many of whom are from Carribbean countries.  
>  **Bill 101 (or La loie 101)** : A law in Quebec that makes it mandatory for the children of parents who were not educated in QC to go to french school.  
>  **queb** : a popular slang term for people from QC, that's mostly applied to native french speakers. Keith's dad was a French Canadian from outside the city in this AU.


	6. 30 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s got two options here. Either ignore everything that just happened and divert, or be completely transparent and start things off with Keith on the right foot — let him know what he’s getting into, that is. Tell him that his brain’s gonna take about 1.5 hours to get normal and that his bladder is the reason they stopped making out last night. That last option is definitely the right option.
> 
> Lance settles on option one.
> 
> “This is really good bread, man,” he says, digging back into his breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome BACK! Thanks so much for doing the work to find this fic after last week's devastating accidental deletion. I'm infinitely grateful for every read this fic gets, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Also, the chapter count changed because I have a _feeling_ things might take longer than expected. My fics are always longer than anticipated, sorry about that!
> 
> CW for some internalized ableism. Lance can get kind of self-deprecating at times in regards to his ADHD and IC, and that takes a front seat at the beginning of this chapter. I really believe that learning to be kind to oneself is a universal struggle, and I wanted to put that struggle in writing.
> 
> Also, a pupusa is a Salvadoran flatbread that's made with corn flour and stuffed with either cheese, meat, beans, or all 3. This will be relevant later lol, I just wanted to explain it here. They're good tho, you should try them.

Lance wakes up, blinking his eyes open to the sight of an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar, very minimalist room. _Keith’s room_ , he sort of distantly reminds himself as he stretches out on the mattress, noticing the empty space next to him. The hangover isn’t terrible — they didn’t drink any hard alcohol and he had been pretty strict about hydrating himself, but it’s still there and it’s still annoying. 

As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, his mind does end up drifting to what happened before he went to bed. He and Keith had kissed, things had gotten real steamy real fast, and he’d stopped things because his IC decided to remind him at the exact worst moment that it was still very much _there_ and very much thriving, especially on his solid diet of mostly beer from the night before. 

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Sure, it’s not the first time his bladder has stopped him from acting on his base impulses with a very attractive and very receptive potential partner — but this time, things kind of hurt more. This time, Lance kind of actually _cares_. And not just about the having sex part. But about Keith.

He sorta really likes him.

“Nnnnghh,” Lance groans into his hands, rolling onto his back. As much as he wants to lie in bed and lament the fact that he’s enamoured with someone who thinks slabs are boring and library school is lame, his bladder takes this fine opportunity to remind him that she is very much _full of piss_ and needs to be evacuated _two hours ago_ or something. He gets up without further ado and notes that he’s still wearing his climbing clothes from yesterday — which is really fucking gross. He also has no clue where the bathroom is, given how alcohol drunk and sex drunk his brain was when he ended up here last night. 

“Okay, pee and shower and _then_ deal with the guy thing,” he mumbles to himself, swinging his arms a couple times beside himself and opening the bedroom door before he can overthink any further.

“Hey,” Keith’s voice calls to him from the far corner of the room in the kitchen nook. Lance looks over and spots the man himself all freshly showered wearing what must be a clean red t-shirt and nike running shorts. He’s barefoot — which really shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but the dude’s got nice ankles and Lance is too unmedicated at the moment to not get briefly distracted by them. His hair is damp and loose, falling down his back over a towel hung over his shoulders. He’s perched over the stove, poking at something in a frying pan when his head turns to face Lance and —

He’s smiling. Damn. 

“Uh, hey,” Lance manages, kinda bewildered at how fucking domestic this feels. It’s been a while since he’s woken up to someone making him breakfast… someone that isn’t Hunk or his Ma, that is.

“You makin’ me breakfast?” Lance adds, cocking his head. He hopes it comes off as suave.

“No,” Keith deadpans in an instant. “You have to starve.”

“Wow, and here I was thinking you’d make decent wife material.”

Keith rolls his eyes and resumes looking at the pan. “Get out of my apartment.”

“As much as I’d like to, I need to take a serious piss,” Lance says, waddling as fast as he can to the bathroom and trying not to get more distracted by Keith’s whole “morning look” he’s got going on. While he’s peeing, though, he realizes that maybe “morning Keith” likes doing things on his own. And that maybe he’s got things planned for his day off, and that Lance might just be getting in the way. After all, it’s not like they planned for this — and it’s not like one tipsy 30-second makeout session means he’s got the green light for hanging around Keith all morning. 

Like, Lance is _pretty_ sure that was just sarcastic banter. But maybe there was a grain of truth to it. Maybe Keith _does_ want him to leave.

He winces a little as the last of his piss stream comes out. Things are feelin’ a little burny, but not terrible. A level-4 on the pain scale, where 0 is easy pee-sy (get it?) and 10 is dick on fire. 10s are very rare, and usually come with a real-live UTI, but the memory of them is forever branded into Lance’s memory. 

It also doesn’t feel like a full-on flare, just maybe the tail-end of one which, in fairness, kind of makes sense given how he’s spent the past week in persistent moderate discomfort. Lance is just glad that the worst of it is apparently over, and that the measly amount of Prelief he took was apparently enough to stop the beer from doing all the damage in the world. 

He washes his hands, idly wondering if this is the part where he and Keith exchange a short chuckle over how everything took a turn last night (“Wow, dude, way to stick your tongue in my mouth! That was weird! Anyway, I gotta go buy groceries”) and he leaves and they sort of let it be. Or if he’s staying for breakfast instead. Or if he’ll ever get to find out if last night was just as fun for Keith as it was for himself. 

“Can I use your shower?” is what he asks Keith instead when he returns to the kitchen, because he’s not exactly ready to get a real answer to any of the above options. “I’m still dank from climbing.”

“Yeah, towels are in the hall cupboard,” Keith replies, glancing up from the stove for only a moment. Whatever he’s making, he looks really focused and really _cute_ and Lance needs to extricate himself before he starts drooling. 

He finds his climbing bag against the sofa on his way back to the shower, and grabs it. Thanking past-Lance for remembering to stock an emergency supply of Vyvanse in his bag, he pops his daily dose and makes it into the bathroom without further ado. He’s still kind of in pain, but it’s the kind of pain that’s easy to ignore when he’s got things to do or people to talk to. 

Keith’s bathroom is really spotless, Lance notes, as he strips and gets into the shower. It kind of looks like it was freshly wiped down, and smells vaguely like cleaner. The thought of Keith giving his bathroom a wipe-over solely because he himself is over and sleeping in the next room kind of makes his heart do a backflip. But he might be imagining things.

While scrubbing his hair, Lance takes a moment to ponder his approach. At this point, he feels like he’d be completely kidding himself if he continues insisting he doesn’t have a thing for Keith. 

The weirdest part of last night was that the more they talked, the more they really, _really_ related to one another despite their endless list of differences. Lance can’t exactly put it into words, but it was there and it felt real. 

And he has no clue what to do with that. 

Thing is, the last time he felt like he related to someone this hard, she had to move away before they could even start doing anything. It was a while ago, and he was torn up for maybe a week, but it was all good in the end. And the time before that was the predicate to _the incident_ that tainted Lance’s view of relationships forever, despite his best efforts not to let it. So really, he kind of feels like he’s flying blind. 

As good as he is at avoidant behaviour, Lance is really not great at ignoring things that are on the forefront of his mind. And with great reluctance, he admits to himself that he and Keith are definitely gonna need to talk about the kissing thing. 

“Dude, we need to talk about the kissing thing,” Lance says, walking back into the common area wearing his clean spare shirt, spare denim shorts, and a towel around his head like Chandler in that episode of _Friends_ where his hypnosis tapes make him want to be a strong independent woman. Sue him. Wrapping his hair up in a towel is fun.

Keith kinda jumps, his eyes locking on the towel a moment before he effortfully makes eye contact. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He kinda nudges his head at the small kitchen table, where he appears to have set up a really cute breakfast of what looks like eggs in a basket — each plate sporting two pieces of toast with fried eggs nestled in a hole in their middle, the extra circles of bread on the side of the plate all cute because apparently Keith doesn’t like wasting food. Good. 

“Coffee?” Keith asks, breaking Lance’s attention away from the spread. “How do you like it?”

“Oh, uh, none for me, actually,” Lance responds, taking a seat and trying not to think about the terrible caffeine headache he experienced after weaning himself off due to his most recent flare. 

“Oh,” Keith says, furrowing his brow a little as he pours himself a cup from his french press. “Uh, acid thing?”

“Yeah.” Lance is… kinda impressed that Keith remembered. Huh.

“You can eat, like, eggs and stuff right?” Keith sits down across from him and scoots his chair in. 

“Yeah, man. Eggs, dairy, bread, all are good.” He shoots Keith an appreciative smile and picks up the glass of water laid by his plate. “Thanks man, looks great. Cheers?”

His water glass clinks against Keith’s coffee mug, and they dig in not a moment later. It’s a little awkward and silent, and Lance isn’t sure which of them is supposed to start talking about the “kissing thing.” He decides that maybe he should make the first move, but his mind trails off and realizes that there is one very glaring thing missing from this morning scene. 

“Wait, where’s Kosmo?”

“Hm?” Keith looks up from his plate, one cheek full of food like a hamster. “Oh, uh, he slept somewhere else.”

Wait. 

_Excuse me?_

“Did you plan this?!” Lance spits out, eyes bulging embarrassingly wide.

“Plan what?” Keith asks, swallowing.

“Did — the whole ‘inviting me over’ thing?” he sputters in response, unblinking.

“Uhh.” It looks like it takes Keith a moment to catch up to his level, but when he does, his face and ears flush bright with embarrassment. He averts his eyes. “No.”

It sounds like a lie, but it also sounds like maybe Keith hadn’t thought of it that way. Doesn’t matter, really, because Lance is supremely confused.

“Why would — you know I like Kosmo!”

“Huh?”

“Like, I love dogs! Why would you do that?!”

“ _What?_ ”

They kind of just stare at each other, and Lance hopes this is some sort of colossal misunderstanding, because if Keith had been planning to invite Lance over AND pawned his adorable dog off on someone to facilitate that, then he’s got some major explaining to do. Lance LOVES dogs, why would Keith think that he wouldn’t want to wake up to dog cuddles, or whatever? If anything, Kosmo would have only helped his chances. 

“Okay, dude,” Lance huffs, leaning back in his chair. “I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and hope that your dog’s got some sort of urgent illness and needed to stay overnight at the vet’s —”

“Wha — _what the fuck?!_ ”

“Wait, that came out wrong —”

“Did you — you ‘hope’ that my dog is _sick_?”

“No, no, no! That’s not what I meant —”

“What the fuck did you mean, then?” Keith spits out, kind of venomous. Ohhh boy, Lance really eff’ed this one up.

“I just — okay, okay,” Lance says, arms doing what he hopes is a sort of placating gesture. “Let’s back up, ‘cause like, I think I made some assumptions that might have been wrong —”

“He’s at my mom’s,” Keith interrupts, crossing his arms. “Sometimes he goes to her place for sleepovers.”

“Okay,” Lance nods, trying his best to sound level-headed. “Any particular reason you left him with your mom _last night_?”

“I —” Keith’s face sort of twists at that. He looks _super_ uncomfortable, Lance kinda feels bad. “I… wanted to ask you to get dinner. But I always feed Kosmo at 6, and I don’t like breaking his routine. So I left him with my mom.” Keith shrugs, staring daggers at his plate. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I mean — your mom could have just fed him? Why send him over for the night?” Lance really should just shut up, but his brain motor and mouth motor are on opposite ends of his body, and rarely communicate with one another.

“She likes to hang out with Kosmo! I dunno, it’s normal! We always do it.”

“Okay, fair.” Lance hums, squirming a little in his seat. Keith sort of chances a glance at him, and he hopes his face is all friendly and unassuming, because he wants things to get less uncomfortable real quick. “Wait. You _wanted_ to ask me to dinner?” Aaaand apparently his face hole has other ideas.

“Well — okay, _you_ asked me _first_!”

“I did,” Lance mutters, pursing his lips. He sighs. “Okay… this is dumb, I’m sorry. I, uh, shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t want me to see your dog.”

“That’s… that’s why you were mad?”

“I’m not mad.” Lance shrugs. He’s really not mad, okay? 

“Alright.” Keith kind of twitches. Lance does feel sorry for him, because after replaying their entire conversation in his head at warp speed, he realizes that none of this exchange probably made any discernible sense to Keith. Lance’s lizard brain kind of does that sometimes — it jumps from one thing to another and it makes associations in a split second, and his mouth rolls with it even though Lance himself is sort of metaphorically trying to wave his arms and make the train stop before it derails completely. This is kinda why he likes to avoid talking to people in the morning until his meds kick in, but doing that feels kind of like faking things. 

Honestly, he wishes that spontaneously staying over at a new person’s place wasn’t so fucking complicated. It isn’t always, but this particularly sleepover at Keith’s looks like it’s gearing up to be a fun cocktail of IC and ADHD symptoms running amok, hellbent on letting Keith know that Lance is kind of a complicated guy.

He’s got two options here. Either ignore everything that just happened and divert, or be completely transparent and start things off with Keith on the right foot — let him know what he’s getting into, that is. Tell him that his brain’s gonna take about 1.5 hours to get normal and that his bladder is the reason they stopped making out last night. That last option is definitely the right option.

Lance settles on option one.

“This is really good bread, man,” he says, digging back into his breakfast. 

“Yeah, uh, I got it at that big italian supermarket,” Keith responds. Bless him. Seems like he’s choosing to move on as well. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, content just to eat breakfast and relax a little, and it’s all well and good until Lance is reminded of how they got here in the first place.

“So, we kissed,” he starts, because apparently he hasn’t had enough awkward conversation for one morning. But the thing is, they’ve gotta address it before he explodes. He can’t exactly wait any longer. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, raising an eyebrow at him. Lance kind of feels very _seen_ right now, and is suddenly embarrassed at the silly towel wrapped around his head. He slides it off and rests it against the back of his chair before continuing. 

“I meant it,” Lance confesses. He drops his fork into his plate and rests his elbows on the table, eyes meeting Keith’s. “Wasn’t some drunk thing I just did outta nowhere, I wanted it. So…”

“So…”

“I had fun. Last night.” Keith better say something soon.

“Me too,” Thank god. “I wanted it too.” He smiles. It’s really small, but it’s there. Lance feels himself relax. “Were you okay, though? You kinda…”

Okay. So he remembers.

“You said you needed to stop —”

“Yeah, I did.” Lance takes a deep inhale, gearing himself up for talking about something he really does hate talking about with people he wants to bang, but you know what? He kind of dug this hole for himself. “It was… bladder pain stuff.”

“Oh?” Keith rests his fork down and takes a sip of his coffee. He doesn’t look particularly phased, so Lance figures it’s safe to continue.

“I shouldn’t have drank so much. It… doesn’t help things. It can make stuff hurt.”

“Oh…” Keith’s brow furrows, concerned. “If you felt I was pressuring you —”

“No! No, no, you didn’t pressure me. Not at all. I just — I’m kind of recovering from a week of dealing with bladder pain and I knew what I was getting into. It was a choice I made on my own, and I was aware of the consequences. So don’t feel bad, please.”

Keith doesn’t look really convinced. This is gonna be a _talk_ , Lance can feel it. He mentally readies himself, figuring that he’s gonna at least need to put some of his cards on the table, as much as he doesn’t want to. It’s always hard, doing this. But if he likes Keith, then maybe he sort of owes it to him. Veronica always told him that if someone didn’t wanna stick around because of his issues, then they weren’t the right person for him. And though the prospect of Keith not being the “right person” is kinda inexplicably terrifying, he’s gonna need to face it anyway.

“You — I don’t want you to hurt yourself for me,” is what Keith ends up saying. 

Lance worries his lip. He racks his brain, trying to come up with a way to make Keith level with him. Thankfully, he does remember a thing or two about his digestive system.

“Okay, okay, so, do you ever, like, eat dairy even though you know you’ll regret it later?”

Keith kind of looks taken aback, but Lance can see the gears turning in his head. “Yeah, sometimes I guess. Sometimes I don’t have lactase and I eat it anyway ‘cause I want to.”

“Even though it’ll hurt?”

“Even though it’ll hurt,” Keith echoes. His lip quirks upward.

“So, I knew drinking was probably gonna cost me. But I did it ‘cause I wanted to, and I’ve handled the consequences before, alright? I’m not gonna abstain from everything I love forever because of bladder pain. I just gotta pick my battles. Sometimes that means taking a risk. This one just… didn’t pay off.”

Keith is doing that small smile thing again. “Okay, I get it,” he says, finally. Well. Isn’t that a fucking relief.

“That’s not everything, though.” Lance gears himself up for the whole penis talk, uttering a silent prayer to his ancestors to give him strength. “I can’t have sex. When things hurt. It’s just… not good.”

Keith gives him a strange look. “That’s… That’s fine, Lance. It’s cool.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to… do _stuff_ , you know. It’s just —” Lance stops himself, unsure of how painfully awkward this is. He’s had talks about this exact subject that have gone _South_ very quickly.

“You gotta pick your battles,” Keith echoes. He shrugs, a fond smile resting on his features. “I was tired, I wouldn’t have wanted to go really far anyway.”

Oh.

Okay, so, 

Keith is _really, really cool about this_.

“Is that what you were ‘sick’ with, this week?”

Lance swallows. “Yep, I, uh, was in a lot of pain and climbing doesn’t really help things. So, I took a week off.”

Keith nods. He looks a little confused for a sec, opening his mouth and closing it like a fish, before blurting —

“I get migraines, sometimes. ‘Cause I’ve had a bunch of concussions, and stuff.” 

Lance blinks. “Oh?.”

“And, like, sometimes I gotta miss work and not do anything. So, I get it. Pain sucks.”

“Pain sucks.”

“But, it happens.” Keith shrugs. “I dunno, I guess… I get it, is what I mean. Sort of.”

“Yeah,” Lance breathes. “Yeah, I guess you kinda do.” 

They lock eyes, and Lance feels warm all over. Whatever the fuck is going on here, he really _really_ doesn’t want it to stop. The thought of going home at this point seems dumb. Maybe it’s too early to want to spend all day together, but Lance isn’t a quitter. He’d rather hang around until Keith is absolutely sick of him.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Keith’s phone makes a tweeting noise as well, the exact same moment. They glance at one another and smirk, and take a look at their devices simultaneously.

 **Pidgeon**  
11:24 AM

>ran into shiro omw to work. Said he wants to do a picnic thing today. 6 at jarry park

“Oh, sweet,” Lance mumbles. He looks up at Keith. “You got the same thing?”

“Pidge, eh? Yeah. I’m down.”

“Cool,” Lance grins. His phone buzzes again in his hand.

>also are you dead  
>you didnt come home. Hunk says you either had sex with keith or died.

“She’s asking if I’m dead.”

Keith snorts.

  
>i did neither of those things  
>am alive  
>and down 2 picnic  


>uhhhh where are you then

  
>keith’s  


>uUUHHHH OK WHAT IS GOING ON?

  
>bye pigeon  


>NO

Lance puts his phone on silent and shoves it in his back pocket. He returns his attention to his breakfast.

“So,” he starts, in between mouthfuls. “What’re you up to today?”

“Not much,” Keith replies, his mouth full. “Gotta pick up Kosmo and get a haircut —”

“WHAT?!” Lance’s fork clatters into his plate.

“Uh —”

“ _Why_?”

“Why am I… getting a haircut? Because I need one?”

Lance scoffs, still staring at Keith all open-mouthed. 

Keith’s nostrils flare a little, his mouth slightly agape. “I have split ends? I haven’t had a haircut in, like, a year.”

“Okay, okay,” Lance sighs, gesturing at him wildly with his hands. “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it! I’ll trim your split ends, whatever. I give people haircuts all the time.”

“... People?”

“Like, Hunk, Pidge, my sisters. You know. People.”

“Um, okay,” Keith shrugs. “Sure, if you really want to.”

“Great!” Lance grins, before eating the final mouthful of his breakfast. “Do you have hair shears?”

“Uhh,” Keith pauses his chewing, staring at Lance completely blank. “What?”

“Shears? Like, scissors for cutting hair?”

“I have kitchen scissors? And, like, other ones… in the bathroom.”

Lance rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his water. “Okay, no, we’re not using kitchen scissors or pube scissors to cut your hair. That’s just _wrong_. I’ll pick up some shears from the pharmacy and gift them to you, my treat.”

“Alright,” Keith says, shrugging again. “Cool. Thanks.”

“So, dog then pharmacy then haircut?” Lance asks hopefully. It’s just, y’know, to clarify that Keith actually wants him around and stuff. He doesn’t really want to overstep. “I mean, It’s cool if you wanna go about your day alone, but I’m just offering —”

“Yeah,” Keith interrupts. The left hand corner of his mouth tugs upward into a lopsided smile, and Lance’s mind goes completely, deliciously blank for a half second before he manages to shake himself out of it and avoid staring. “Sounds like a plan.”

. . .

Picking up Kosmo went off without a hitch. He was genuinely super excited to see Keith again, which was a _sight_ to behold. Lance sort of just stood by dumbly while Keith crouched down and rubbed Kosmo’s face between his hands, giving him little kisses on his forehead. It was so cute, Lance thought he might actually physically melt into a puddle of flesh and bone but — okay, no, that’s kind of a gruesome thought. It was just really fucking cute, he’s gonna leave it at that. 

He runs into the pharmacy afterward and picks Keith up some really cute shears with red handles to match his t-shirt. Lance himself has the same pair, but in turquoise. He doesn’t plan on telling Keith that, though, cause it would feel like some sort of weird admission on his part. Like, having matching items in their favourite colours is some level-9 relationship garbage that typically both parties would agree upon. So really, Lance isn’t completely sure what’s coming over him because he and Keith are definitely _not_ in a relationship right now — they just got drunk and kissed and now they do haircuts, apparently. And it’s definitely not weird, and everything feels _normal_ , and Keith was really cool about it and… hasn’t made any moves to repeat anything. 

It’s not like Lance expected kissing to become normal for them, now. That’s the thing with kissing after drinking — you don’t really know if it’s a thing you’re gonna do when the sun is up and everyone is sober. Wanting to kiss when drunk is different than wanting to kiss when sober, and kissing when sober without the expectation that sex stuff will happen is sort of a _romantic_ thing, and it’s _way_ too early to properly gauge if _that’s_ what’s going on here.

Like, Lance knows how he feels. He knows he’s got a big gay crush. But Lance gets big gay crushes _and_ big straight crushes pretty regularly, and they don’t always last. Sure, none of the other “pretty regular” crushes felt _quite_ like this one, but Lance is gonna tread cautiously. Breaking his whole “swearing off dating” thing is gonna require an especially _large_ crush. And he’s not sure if he’s there yet.

“Es-ce que vous avez besoin d’aide, Monsieur?”

Lance jumps at the sound of the clerk’s voice, suddenly aware that he’s been staring blankly at the condom and menstrual hygiene section for an alarming amount of time. He’s not sure how he got here — sometimes his thoughts get so fucking vivid that the visual input he’s getting from his surroundings takes a backseat. 

“Euh, non. Merci, ça va,” he replies, waving the young clerk off. He decides it’s not the best time to go condom shopping, and beelines for the cash instead. 

Keith doesn’t seem all that phased that Lance took so long when he returns outside. He just sort of smiles at him as he receives his brand new hair shears. They almost get on their way, before Lance remembers one important detail.

“Wait, wait, do you have a fine-toothed comb?”

“I have a comb…?” Keith answers, all confused. “It’s got wide teeth —”

“Jesus Christ,” Lance mumbles, spinning on his heel and returning to the pharmacy once again.

. . .

“Okay, what do you want?”

It’s kind of a cute set-up they’ve got going on. Keith is sitting on one of his dining chairs right at the kitchen table in front of his open laptop. Lance remembered that there was an ISFC Bouldering World Cup streaming today, and already started playing it in the background. Kosmo’s lying at their feet, all cute and sleepy. Lance also told Keith to take his shirt off because “clean up will be easier.” All in all, it’s really not a bad way to spend a Monday off. 

“Make it short.”

“WHAT?!” Lance gasps, unable to help himself. “W — why?!”

“Because it’s annoying me and it’s too hot.” Keith glances over his shoulder, puzzled. 

Okay, that is _definitely_ not happening if Lance has anything to say about it. The man bun has been growing on him like a friendly parasite, and he’s not ready to part with it yet. 

“Alright, alright, back up, buddy. Do you like the way you look with long hair?”

Keith scrunches up his eyebrows, moving his legs to the side of the chair and resting an arm on its back. “I mean, yeah, I guess —”

“Well, then, I have a solution.” Lance grins, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I can give you an undercut.”

Keith blinks. “Uh, what’s an —”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Lance sighs, groaning for emphasis. He’s quickly realizing that Keith’s man-bun deal is less a stylistic choice and more a “my hair did this, not sure how I got here” type deal. That’s fine, though. It means he’ll be easier to convince. 

“It’s like, when you shave the underside of you hair and leave it long on top.” He does a little half-assed gesture to the back of his head. “My sister Rachel has the thickest hair ever, but she likes it long. So, I shave from, like, her ears down so there’s less volume and it’s cooler in the summer. And it looks cool tied up.”

Keith purses his lips, thinking. “Okay, sure.”

Well. That was easy.

. . .

So, turns out, cutting Keith’s hair is some sort of big catalyst for stirring up a lot of… _interesting_ memories that Lance’s brain apparently stored away for a rainy day. Thing is, Lance has been here before — “here” being behind Keith, positioned slightly higher up, running his fingers through his hair and occasionally pulling. Except this time, he’s pulling with a fine toothed comb rather than with his fists at the root, but you know. Details. 

The shirtlessness isn't really helping, either. It’s not like he remembers everything from that time they did the nasty — it was two years ago, and at the time, Lance regarded Keith as one regards any random hookup. He didn’t expect to ever see him again, so a lot of the details weren’t exactly committed to memory. Apparently, though, they _had_ been stored _somewhere_ and only needed to be triggered by getting up-close and personal with Keith’s locks and naked torso once again. 

“She’s really good,” Keith mumbles, watching the screen in front of him. “Janja Garnbret. She’s, like, insane.”

“Oh yeah she’s _whack_ ,” Lance manages, sweating profusely as he trims Keith’s split ends. 

“She just flashed one again! That’s crazy!” It’s cute. Keith’s getting really into this. 

But as much as Lance loves watching Janja Garnbret flash stupendously difficult problems that seasoned climbers can’t even muster, he’s been paying exactly zero attention to the World Cup final and 100% of his attention to Keith’s inky, black hair and the way the undercut really shows off his neck. Lance remembers what it was like to run his fingers, all spread out, up the back of Keith’s head and pull his hair out of the way, exposing his neck while he was railing him from behind. It was kinda _nasty_ , and not the kind of sex you have with someone you know intimately, but it was _really good_ from what he remembers. Damn. It’s really too bad his dick isn’t working right now.

“Wha — how are they supposed to do that? There are no footholds!”

Lance curses his dick. Not for not working right now, but for taking over his thoughts and turning him into a horny neanderthal. His dick is allowed to not work sometimes, he’s learned to be nice to it when it comes to that particular issue. If he spent all his time getting mad at his bladder and dick for making him suffer, he’d be a much unhappier person. 

Honestly, their entire day so far has been an immense help in allowing Lance to forget that he’s still in very mild pain. Distraction has been great. But getting a boner right now _definitely_ won’t help in this department. It also might make things… weird.

“How the fuck — oh my _god_ ,” Keith mutters behind his hand, as one of the climbers tops the weird problem with no footholds. Lance isn’t sure who, though, because he hasn’t looked away from Keith’s hair in maybe half an hour. 

Lance may or may not have actually finished trimming his split ends a few minutes ago. He might just be doing the whole “final touch” thing as an excuse to spend more time with his hands in Keith’s hair. But he really should stop soon. Before it gets suspicious. 

“Okay, all done!” Lance announces, voice a little squeakier than usual. He grabs one of Keith’s elastics from the table and ties his hair up in a messy bun, leaving out the strands that naturally fall over and around Keith’s face. “Want me to take a picture of the back so you can see?”

“Huh?” Keith looks over his shoulder. “Oh, sure. Thanks man.”

Lance snaps a photo and leans over Keith’s shoulder to show him, suddenly very aware of the heat radiating from his body. Honestly, this whole thing has been a massive exercise in discipline and self-control. On the one hand, Lance would _love_ to just cut the crap and suck on Keith’s neck right this second. On the other hand, that would probably be uncalled for. 

It’s also entirely Lance’s own fault that he got himself in this position. Like, it’s no secret that he’s got a hair thing. He’s got a lot of “things,” honestly, and it’s his own fault that Keith is literally shirtless right now.

Leaning over Keith’s shoulder is giving him a very _nice_ aerial view of his pecs, which is completely unfair. Has Lance mentioned he has a boob thing? Well, he has a boob thing, too. 

“Huh, looks really good. Thanks!” Keith beams up at him, grinning a more toothy smile than usual, and Lance feels like his lungs might collapse. 

“Haha, no problem, buddy!” Lance spews, removing his hand from Keith’s bare shoulder ( _when did it get there?_ ) and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He swings his arms a couple times, staring off into nothing in an attempt to cool himself off. “Sooo…”

“We should get food for the picnic,” Keith purses his lips and eyes the fridge. Thank fuck Keith is clear-headed at the moment, because Lance might just be on the verge of losing it.  
“Yeah! Sounds good!” Lance is well aware that his voice is getting progressively shriekier, but he hopes it’s not noticeable to an outside party. 

“We’ve got about three hours and a bit until 6, but we can always show up early,” Keith continues, checking the time on his phone. “Wanna finish the World Cup and go shopping on the way to the park?”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, hard enough to make himself just a bit dizzy. He’s honestly not completely sure how he’s gonna survive another three hours in Keith’s presence, but maybe distracting himself with the dog will help. “That works.”

. . .

Kosmo did help. 

The moment Lance started cuddling him, his thoughts went from horny to “wow I LOVE dogs” really quick. He didn’t really feel prepared to do the whole song and dance of wondering whether Keith wanted to cuddle while watching the World Cup on his couch, so Lance sorta holed himself up with the dog on the floor. Honestly, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a couple hours.

They went shopping afterward. Keith packed a somewhat scarily large knife in his backpack because he wanted to pick up an entire Portuguese rotisserie chicken which, in fairness, is a pretty fucking good idea for picnic food. Lance insisted they grab some tortilla chips, refried beans, pupusas and a couple jars of homemade horchata from his favourite Salvadoran place on the way as well, because Keith had insisted on being extra and Lance was not one to back down from a challenge.

Hunk and Pidge ended up arriving first — they set up a small portable grill at a cute spot between a big tree and the duck pond by the time Keith and Lance arrived with all the food, and Kosmo in tow. Everything was super normal and not weird — up until Keith went to the water fountain to fill up Kosmo’s bowl.

“Alright, spill,” Pidge says, standing exactly one foot away, arms crossed. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” Lance squeaks, his shoulders hiking up to his ears. 

Hunk sighs. “You’re using your ‘something happened’ voice.”

“I DON’T HAVE A ‘SOMETHING HAPPENED VOICE!’”

“Hey, hey,” Pidge grips his shoulders. “You don’t need to tell us the gory details, but maybe you’ll act less weird if you just came clean?”

“Nnnnghhh,” Lance groans, rubbing his hands down his face. He knows that hiding things from them literally never works, so whatever. “Okay, okay. We got dinner and drinks last night.”

“Okay…” Hunk raises an eyebrow.

“And then we went to his place and made out —”

Pidge shrieks, her face lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree.

“Oh my god,” Lance grumbles.

Hunk grins. “And you stayed over?”

“My bladder interrupted things before we could… do _other stuff_. And we were tired, so we just ended up passing out. Then we woke up and had breakfast, and picked up Kosmo from Keith’s mom’s, and then I gave him a haircut and we watched the World Cup. Then we got food and came here.” Lance shrugs. “That’s it.”

“Awww, buddy! That’s so great!” Hunk places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m happy for you!”

“Yeah!” Pidge exclaims, hugging his torso. “That’s amazing!”

Lance blinks. “Uh, what? I don’t… _what’s_ so great?”

“You went on a date!” Hunk says, vibrating with excitement. “And it obviously went well, so. It’s just nice to see, you know?”

Lance cringes, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s not like it was a _date_ date, you know? Like, we’re not _dating_...” 

His voice trails off, distracted by the absolutely baffled expressions on his friends’ faces. He raises an eyebrow

“Uh, buddy, no offense but that sounds like a date to me?” 

“Yeah,” Pidge scoffs. “Are you dumb?”

“I’m not dumb!”

“Lance isn’t dumb, Pidge,” Hunk shoots her a disapproving look. “Think of it this way: If Keith were a girl, would you think it was a date?”

It takes him a moment to process. Lance has had his share of extended overnight hang outs with women. Come to think of it, they weren’t all that different than the past… what? Twenty-seven hours that he’s spent with Keith?

_Twenty-seven hours…_

Lance’s eyes bulge open. 

“Aw, look, he’s getting it!”

“Oh my god, _it was a date_!” Lance hisses, his arms flailing haphazardly. 

“No one spends their _entire_ ‘morning after’ _and_ afternoon with someone they don’t wanna see more of," Pidge adds helpfully. “Gay stuff is just weird cause you spent, like, twenty years of your life thinking you only liked guys as friends. It can be hard to make that mental switch! That’s what Matt told me, anyway.”

“But, like… what if Keith doesn’t —”

“What if I don’t what?”

“KEEEITH!” Lance jumps, probably five feet in the air, but it’s hard to gauge from his perspective. He starts laughing, trying to brush it off and grasping at something to say, met with only Keith’s puzzled expression as he walks back toward their group, water-filled bowl in hand. 

“We were wondering if you want weed?” Wow. Lance loves Hunk. Bless him, holy shit. 

“Oh, uh, no thanks.” Keith shoots them a half-smile and bends down to pat Kosmo, offering him his little bowl of water. 

Lance has absolutely no clue what to do about the fact that he’s lowkey highkey freaking out, other than extricating himself and collect his thoughts before actually interacting with everyone like a normal human. He nudges Hunk, trying to convey his mild panic with only his eyes. Thankfully, he and his best bud have a solid twelve years of friendship to fall back on when one of them has a _moment_ and needs a little TLC. Hunk can understand him, even without verbal cues.

“We’re going to pee,” Hunk announces. Good cover, honestly. Lance always has to pee. “Be back soon.”

They’re halfway to the indoor tennis court bathrooms when Hunk nudges Lance’s shoulder with his own. “What’s up?”

Lance runs a hand through his hair. “How was I supposed to know it was a date?! I have no idea what to do now!”

“Woah, woah, buddy —” Hunk stops him with a gentle hand on his arm, turning Lance to face him. “You don’t need to _do_ anything. You had a good day with him, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And you were just acting like your normal self, right?”

A quick montage of every moment Lance said something straight out of his ass or thirsted so hard he could barely function flashes before his eyes. “Yeah, uh, pretty much.”

“And Keith’s still here, right? He still had you over and made you breakfast _and_ hung out with you all day.”

Lance inhales sharply. He nods. 

“So, I don’t see a problem. You’re great, buddy. And Keith’s a really sweet guy. It’s not like he asked you to get married tomorrow, you know? You went on one date, and it went well. And now, you get to have fun with all of us.” Hunk smiles, kneading Lance’s shoulders a little. It feels really good. Lance feels some tension he didn’t even know he was holding dissipate into nothing. “Not a bad way to spend your evening, right?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathes. He looks up to meet Hunk’s gaze, grinning. “Yeah, I can do this.”

“Yeah!” Hunk fist-bumps his shoulder. “I got you, okay?”

“Thank you, I — I really appreciate it, man.”

“You’ve done the same for me. We’ve been holding each other together a long time, okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance smiles, even wider now. “Yeah, we really have.”

. . .

Things get better, after that. 

By the time Lance and Hunk get back to the group, Shiro’s already arrived with Matt. They’ve carried over some nice beers, an assortment of cheese, baguette, and homemade salads that look absolutely posh next to Lance’s mishmash of takeout and Keith’s crudely-carved chicken. Honestly, Lance doesn’t understand how 30 year-olds do it. They have their shit together in ways he can barely comprehend.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Matt starts helping Hunk load up the grill with sausages, and Shiro starts talking to Pidge about something or other. Lance takes a seat next to Keith as he hacks away at the roasted bird with his comically large knife, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth and brow furrowed in deep concentration. It’s fucking ridiculous and so, _so_ endearing, Lance can’t really take his eyes off the sight. 

“I think it’s already dead,” Lance says, unable to help himself.

Keith looks up, eyeing him from behind his bangs. “Huh?”

“You don’t need to kill it. It’s already dead.” 

Keith snorts. 

“Hey, nice haircut, kid,” Shiro says, walking over to ruffle Keith’s hair in the most straight-up dad way imaginable. 

“Thank you!” Lance beams. “Did it myself!”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yep!” Lance grins. He notices some sort of faint incomprehensible _look_ exchanged between Shiro and Keith, but decides not to dwell on it. 

“So, I take it you two had a good day?” Shiro supplies, his expression pleasantly neutral. “And a good night, too —”

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith grumbles. 

“Sounds like you were… productive.” Shiro smiles at both of them, still relaxed and open. Lance is… kind of confused.

“I mean… yeah, we did a bunch of stuff. Got a lot done, I guess?”

“Oh? A _lot_ , eh?”

“Where’s the rest of your hive mind?” Keith interrupts, hacking at the chicken a little more aggressively. 

Shiro chuckles. “They’re watching Curtis’ niece at home. I invited them, but they really wanted to watch Finding Nemo.”

That’s so freaking cute. Lance makes a mental note to watch Finding Nemo with his niece and nephew next time he sees them.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you two alone.” Shiro walks off without another word. 

Lance grins. “Shiro’s cool —”

“I hate him,” Keith mumbles, almost imperceptibly. Suddenly, so much of this exchange makes sense to Lance.

He laughs. “Dude, I’m the youngest of _five_ siblings. You don’t think they roast the shit outta me all the time, too?”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“It’s ‘cause we’re cute and they love us.” Lance shrugs, grinning. “Hunk and Pidge do it too. I can let you in on a little secret, though.” He leans forward, trying to keep a level head as he enters Keith’s space, his lips hovering by his ear. “They can dish it, but they can’t take it. You just need to know how to roast them back.” 

When he pulls away, Keith is grinning at him widely. Lance doesn’t want to speak too soon, but this looks promising as fuck.

. . .

“I’m surprised Keith let someone touch his hair,” Shiro starts, as everyone sits down to dig into dinner. “He’s probably had four haircuts in his lifetime.”

“Funny,” Keith mumbles, his mouth full of food. “Coming from someone who cuts his own hair because _one_ barber made you bald before your first date with Adam.”

“WHAT?!” Pidge sputters, dropping some salad on the picnic blanket. 

“Aw man,” Matt adds. “That was hilarious. Your scalp was so shiny.”

Shiro stares at them, dumbfounded. His eye twitches. 

“It’s not like Adam even saw,” Keith continues. “You avoided him for, like, three weeks until it grew out a bit.”

Lance grins around the pupusa he’s stuffing into his mouth. He’s created a monster. It’s great.

“I’m honestly surprised you postponed your date so long,” Keith says, nonchalantly looking at his food. “Considering you literally changed your class schedule _just_ to be in a psych class with him. And it _still_ took, what, two months before you even said a word to each other?” Keith looks up, an evil smirk dancing on his features. “You weren’t even _in_ psych. You were a physio major.”

Shiro looks like he’s just about blown a fuse. Lance almost feels bad. Almost. 

“Awww, man! I did that once,” Hunk says. 

Matt raises an eyebrow. “You took a class you didn’t need to be with a girl?”

“Nooo, I took a class I didn’t need to be with Lance.”

“Damn right, buddy.” Lance fist bumps him. “Hunk was a science student, but he took this history class about the Middle-Ages just so we could pass notes like old times. Best class ever.”

Hunk grins. “We didn’t learn _anything._ ”

They get a good laugh from the group out of that. Shiro looks like he’s relaxing a little, bless him. Lance catches Keith’s eye across the circle and shoots him a wink. He’s proud, okay? Who knew they’d make a damn good team. 

Keith smiles back at him, mostly with his eyes. He bites his lip and — oh, okay. 

Apparently that’s one of Lance’s “things” too. _Fuck._

He is _so_ screwed.

. . .

All in all, it was a pretty sweet evening. They had _way_ too much food, and ended up needing to make some makeshift doggy bags. Shiro and Matt left first, since they’re real adults with real jobs and responsibilities, and the rest of them sorta just shot the shit for two hours, occasionally giving Kosmo belly rubs. It was really nice, all in all, and Lance is super glad he was able to put aside his freak out and just enjoy the evening. He’s been super nice to his bladder today, too, and it seems to have paid off. He hasn’t been interrupted by the painfully urgent need to piss even once.

Keith stands up eventually, and says he also needs to go to bed before work in the morning. They all give him a wave, and he heads off with Kosmo in tow. Overall, things went pretty well and Lance is feeling pretty content about everyth —

Pidge nudges his ribs with her elbow. _Hard_

“What?!” 

She sort of just stares at him, an insistent look on her face as she nudges her head a little. 

“I don’t — huh?” Lance massages his side a little. “What are you saying?!”

“Duuude,” Hunk interrupts, wide eyed. He cocks his head to the side. 

“Can you two just use your fucking words?”

“ _Go say bye to Keith, you idiot!_ ” Pidge hisses, nudging him again. “You just had, like, a thirty-hour date, he deserves better than a shitty wave.”

“Oh.” Lance freezes, his eyes widening by the second. “ _Shit._ ” He bolts upright, scanning their surroundings. He barely remembers the direction Keith headed in.

“That way,” Hunk points. Lance takes off without a second thought. 

Things are pretty dark at this point, and even though there are _some_ lamps in this park, he’s not entirely sure where Keith is heading. There are so many winding paths around the pond, and trees obscuring his vision, that he’s starting to panic a little that he might have lost his chance to —

To what? Honestly, he has no fucking clue. He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.

“Shit,” Lance mumbles, scanning his surroundings through squinted eyes. He’s aware that he’s rusty at this — _dating_ people, that is. But the idea of fucking things up with Keith is a little scarier than missing his shot.

He’s also never dated a guy. Like, gone on an _actual_ date with one. Until now, he guesses. He’s hooked up with maybe three dudes in his lifetime, all pretty spaced apart, and was kind of under the silly impression that the “dating” thing might never happen. There were just _more_ people who weren’t dudes, and dating them seemed easier for some inexplicable reason. It’s probably like what Pidge said — the mental switch from seeing guys as friends to seeing them as potential partners can be hard. 

Doesn’t change the fact that he had more fun yesterday and today than he’s had with another person in a long, _long_ time. There really isn’t much of a difference, in the end, between guys and not-guys. Everyone is just a person, and Lance happens to be the kind of guy that can imagine himself falling in love with any kind of person. 

But that’s… he’s getting ahead of himself. This isn’t love, but… It’s something.

He hopes it’s something. He hopes it isn’t wrong.

Lance catches sight of a figure walking a dog at the edge of the park, obscured by some foliage. He sighs in relief, and takes off in a sprint. 

“Keith!” He calls, waving an arm as his shoes pad quickly on the graveled path. “Wait!”

Keith stops and turns, cocking his head. It only takes a few more seconds for Lance to reach him, panting a little as he grinds to a halt. 

“Hey?” 

“That was a date,” Lance announces, firmly. He gestures a little wildly behind them. “That? Everything? That was… it was a thirty-hour date. Or, longer, I dunno. I have no idea what time it is.”

Keith sort of blinks at him, and Lance is trying his damndest not to let his heart pop out of his own throat. Has he mentioned he has no clue what he’s doing? Well, he’s got no plan, here. He’s flying blind.

Keith exhales, loudly. “Okay, great, ‘cause I wasn’t sure —”

“Wha — WHAT?!” Lance sputters, his brain turning to oatmeal. “You — you didn’t know EITHER?!”

“No!” Keith yells, waving his arms. “You, like, avoided getting anywhere near me all day.”

“Wha — I cut your _hair!_ ”

“You also sat on the floor with my dog for, like, two hours! How was I supposed to know?!”

It’s baffling. They kind of just stare at one another, dumbfounded, for a vague number of seconds before Keith’s face starts twisting into that same lopsided smile. Lance sputters out a laugh, and before he knows it, they’re both cackling. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Lance wheezes, running a hand down his face. He shakes his head, his face absolutely sore from grinning. “Okay, okay, so…”

“So…?” Keith takes a breath, looking at him kind of expectantly. “Was it… I dunno, was it good?”

“Was what good?”

“The — the _date_ , fuck. I don’t know —”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, biting his lips together. “Yeah, no, it was — I had a great time. Really.”

“Good, uh. Me too.” Keith steps forward, and he’s suddenly _very_ close to Lance’s face. He lifts a hand, hesitating a little before going all in and gently resting his fingers on the side of Lance’s neck, his thumb brushing his jaw. Lance swallows his nerves down, locking his eyes with Keith’s. 

They’re dark and pretty reflective, especially in this light. He’s never seen anything like them. 

Before he can say something dumb about his pretty eyes, though, Keith closes the gap between them and delivers a soft kiss to his lips. Lance’s eyes fall shut, his hands moving on their own accord to slide over Keith’s hips, intent on not breaking things off too soon. He wants to savour it, after how long it took to get here. Still, thirty hours seems like nothing. He doesn’t want it to end.

“I gotta go,” Keith whispers against his mouth after a moment. Lance whines pathetically in response. He somehow doesn’t find it embarrassing at all. 

They kiss again, a little more firm this time before Keith pulls himself back, his hand last to leave Lance’s space. Kosmo whines a little, pawing at his owner’s foot. He smiles, nudging his head in his dog’s direction.

“My buddy’s tired. He wants to sleep.”

“Buh,” Lance sputters.

“Night Lance.”

“Night.” Lance tries not to let all his executive functions shut down at the sound of his own name in Keith’s low, soft voice but he’s not sure he’ll manage. Honestly, he kind of feels like he’s on fire _and_ about to collapse. Maybe he’s sick, or something.

He brings his hands to his face, groaning lightly into them as he watches Keith takes off into the night. Turns out, for all his assuming, he was definitely wrong about a few things.

Keith doesn’t have a man-bun because he’s a pretentious asshole. 

He was also _very cool_ about… pretty much everything. Literally everything.

He also definitely likes Lance, at least a little. In a _kiss without sex_ kind of way.

And this whole thing, in Lance’s mind, isn’t some big gay crush. This is something _else_ entirely.

A strong surge of inexplicable emotion rips through Lance’s body, overwhelming his senses and making his throat close up, his eyes sting with salt. “ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, pressing his fingers over his mouth and trying not to lose his whole damn mind. He’s only felt like this once before in his entire life, and he recognizes it plainly now that everything’s been laid out in front of him. 

This isn’t love. Definitely not. Not yet.

But it’s that thing that’s close to it. That rumbling of the tracks signaling an incoming freight train. 

He sort of knows it’s coming. He can feel it in the shake of his bones.

And he’s woefully, devastatingly unprepared for when it hits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahah these dumb boys. They're so dense, sometimes.
> 
> Phew! That was a long one! I seem to be doing that thing where I write progressively longer chapters by accident. I'm trying not to do that, mainly because I want to update every week. That being said, I might take a little longer with the next chapter. So if I don't update next weekend, don't worry! Probably just means I need a little more time.
> 
> Also, if you've read my other fics, you'd know that I have a thing for writing breakfast scenes and making Keith talk with his mouth full. It was only a matter of time before that weaseled its way into this fic.
> 
> Also, Janja Garnbret is this year's International Federation of Sport Climbing (ISFC) World Cup Champion in women's bouldering. She's absolutely insane, watch some of her videos.


	7. False Starts and Setbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do I look fuckable?”
> 
> Kosmo whines.
> 
> “Cool,” Keith mutters. As weird as it might look to an outside party, talking to his dog is something he always does to calm his nerves. He might not need to do it if he had a roommate, but what can you do. Life’s weird, dogs are good listeners, and it’s not like Keith’s got a normal brain anyway. 
> 
> He reaches up to tie his hair, and — _SNAP_. Oh fuck. 
> 
> “Noooo, no no no,” Keith mutters, bringing his newly-broken elastic to his face. _Fuck_ , it was his last one. This is an utter disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Welcome to Act 2! Lance and Keith will now be smooching regularly, but that doesn't mean the drama's over. 
> 
> I didn't tag this as a slowburn because I was planning to have them together by the story's mid point, but it did take me 40k words to get here so... Idk honestly. Tagging's hard.
> 
> Disclaimer: mixing SSRIs and alcohol can be iffy and this was something I overlooked when writing the chapter about their date. I'm gonna have Keith address alcohol consumption in a later chapter and I went back and edited down the amount they drank during the date. Only doctors can really tell you what's safe to consume and what's not when it comes to medication, so please don't use this fic as a reference.
> 
> CW for a lot of NSFW stuff in this chapter. There's a masturbation scene, two mild smutty scenes, and a shower scene all sandwiched between dashes so you know they're coming. Things are getting naughty up in here, and I should really stop writing this fic in public....
> 
> Also, CW for a panic attack - also sandwiched between dashes if you prefer to avoid reading it. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> [an overly long tangent about ethnic names and name HCs for characters is in the end notes. Enjoy!]

Keith wakes up to his alarm, rolling over and reaching around Kosmo to turn it off. His dog’s eyes shoot open the moment he moves, and suddenly — without a second to prepare — he’s being licked fervently all over his face. He knows opening his mouth to breathe would be a huge fucking mistake — Kosmo’s tongue would just enter his mouth with disturbing enthusiasm, reminding Keith that it’s been so long since he’s made out with another person and he’s been getting more action from his fucking dog —

Actually, wait. That’s _not true_ anymore. Not after his date with Lance. 

“Dwn buyy mmfffff,” he attempts through pursed lips, gently shoving Kosmo’s face aside and gasping for breath the moment the coast is clear. His face is all sticky and gross, his hair _definitely_ standing on end, but waking up next to his dog has always made him happier than almost anything else. It’s no secret to Keith that the mornings he wakes up without Kosmo next to him are more likely to give him a rocky start to his day. 

Sometimes, this doesn't make him feel so great. For a long time, Keith prided himself on his “independence” — also known as, his unwillingness to ask others for help, preferring to deal with life on his own terms. It’s not like he had a choice, really, given how his mother often left him to his own devices. But after going through his injuries and growing up a little bit, he’s been forced to accept that his “independence” was often just another word for his aversion to connecting with others, and a deep-seeded discomfort with letting people take care of him. 

After his last concussion, though, he was forced to accept help from several people — his mom, Shiro, and his therapist, psychiatrist _and_ neurologist. And it had sucked. It was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, especially given how volatile his mood was at the time, and how hard everything had been on Krolia and Shiro. But getting Kosmo was a decision he made on his own terms after accepting that help was necessary. He figured if he could get help _and_ give an animal a good life, then maybe it would be a decent trade off. He hasn’t looked back since, and he loves his dog more than he ever thought he could love another being.

Still, Kosmo’s breath fucking stinks in the morning. He’s gonna need to sterilize his face with bleach or some shit before he even faces another human. 

Kosmo barks, panting and all smiley as he paws at Keith’s leg. He headbutts Keith’s arm a couple times, no doubt asking for pats. Keith concedes, obviously, because it’d be cruel not to indulge him, canine breath and aggressive wake-up licks be damned. 

“Okay, up,” he mumbles, smiling at his dog after a solid few minutes of scratches and, tapping him on his rump as they both hop out of bed. He takes his SSRI and downs a whole glass of water before heading out to the kitchen, Kosmo trotting right behind. 

Keith left his phone on the counter last night instead of by his bedside, thanks to his therapist’s suggestion that he try improving his “sleep hygiene.” This means only using his bed for sleep (as opposed to reading news articles about UFO sightings to stave off anxious thoughts until he falls asleep with his phone on his face at 5 am). It’s actually kind of helped things sleep-wise, though he’s very behind on UFO news. Still, it’s a small price to pay for being “healthy” and not doing more damage to his poor brain.

He opens his phone screen, not really expecting to find anything interes —

Oh. 

**Lance**  
12:38 AM  
>night buddy 😎  
Keith snorts, his face heating up as he quickly types out a reply. 

8:34 AM

  
>good morning 👽

He stares at the draft for an embarrassingly long amount of time, overthinking his emoji choice before forcing himself to send the message before he’s late for work. To be honest, even though some jitters are still there, he’s feeling pretty content about the Lance thing. He’d made it clear to him, as they said their goodbyes a couple days before, that he was honestly _into_ Keith. And it’s… nice.

It’s fucking great, actually.

When Keith had gone in to the bike shop on Tuesday morning, Kolivan gave him the strangest looks before flat out asking why he seemed so much more “cheerful” than usual. Keith’s not sure where his boss had gotten that impression — all Keith had done was say “bonjour” to a customer instead of making a beeline for the garage and avoiding all contact, but — okay, fair. It wasn’t in character for him, and _maybe_ his whole thirty-hour date with Lance had something to do with that. 

See, Keith’s been in exactly one relationship before. And it was fine. They’d met on Tinder when Keith was 21 and Dom was 24. The age difference wasn’t an issue, and they dated more and more seriously for over the course of six months. They did normal couple stuff like watch movies and sleep together and cook meals. Dom would help Keith with fixing shit in his apartment, and Keith would help Dom fix his bike, and it was really normal and _nice_... until it kind of got old. 

Keith used to believe that breakups were explosive ordeals that left both parties scattered, until he and Dom experienced what was probably the most boring breakup ever. They realized that they were dating more for convenience and less because they actually _loved_ spending time together. Keith had thought what they had was love for a while, until Dom realized it wasn’t — and made Keith realize it too. 

They’re cool, though. Not friends, per se, but they always wish each other happy birthday and Merry Christmas and they’ve had lengthy chats and catch-ups the few times they’ve run into each other out and about since then. Last time Keith saw him while walking Kosmo on Saint Laurent, he found out he was getting married to his old childhood neighbour. Keith felt genuinely happy for him, and they parted ways on the best of terms. 

For along time, Keith’s brief stint with Dom was his only source of actual romantic experience. And now that he’s met Lance, he’s realizing that he has absolutely no fucking clue what he’s doing. 

For one thing, they actually met _in person_... sort of. Grinder thing aside, that is. And Keith wasn’t really considering dating him at first — like, Lance had literally chewed him out the first time they had a real conversation. The past month and a bit that he’s known Lance has been a real rollercoaster of downright surprises, especially given that Lance still kind of bewilders him at times. He’s unpredictable, and _loud_ , and pretty chaotic (in an endearing way, obviously), and Keith still has trouble understanding what he’s thinking. But it’s been… fun. _Really fun_ , if Keith’s being honest with himself. And he really doesn’t want it to stop. 

Lance is also… _cool_. Which sounds really fucking stupid, but he’s got great friends and a big family and interests that include climbing, and cutting hair, and spending time with kids, and _libraries_ , apparently, though Keith still hasn’t found out why exactly Lance chose that career path. But the thing is that Keith _wants_ to know more. Lance peaks his interest in a way that no one else ever has, and he figures that must count for something.

He’s also hot. Which also counts for… _something?_ Probably.

-  
It’s that last point that Keith gets sort of stuck on when he closes his eyes in the shower and reaches down to take care of his “morning business,” as Shiro calls it — ugh, gross. Keith lets go of his dick and waits for Shiro to get the fuck out of his head before he continues. 

He wonders if Lance has done this too — jerked off to thoughts of hooking up together, that is. He also wonders if Lance even jerks off in general when his bladder’s doing the whole pain thing. Keith can’t really get in the right headspace to masturbate when he’s got a migraine, so maybe it’s sort of like that.

But more importantly, why is he thinking about this right now? He has literally five minutes to jack off before he needs to get out, get dressed and leave for work. He sighs, and resumes stroking. 

After Keith had learned that he and Lance hooked up that one time, he did end up remembering a few details other than the buttplug washing incident. Namely, that Lance really liked pulling his hair, and that most of the positions they used were more ass-to-face than face-to-face. Keith feels like if they have sex again sometime soon, he’d want to do things differently. He’d want to be able to make out at the same time, and to press their foreheads together and breathe in the same air. He’d want to lean in and pepper Lance’s neck with kisses, and maybe moan into the shell of his ear as they quicken their pace. He’d love to —  
-

 _Plop,_ Keith hears, along with the shuffling of the shower curtain. He opens his eyes, greeted with the sight of Kosmo sticking his face into the shower, staring at him curiously. His favourite toy — a chewed up stuffed hippo — is at Keith’s feet, getting wetter and wetter by the second. 

Keith lets go of his dick and smiles, unable to help himself. Sometimes, if he moans too loudly in the shower, his dog thinks he’s sad and gives him a toy to feel better. He can’t scold him for this, because Kosmo’s training literally ingrained in him that giving Keith attention when he’s sad is important. If he did scold him, Kosmo would only get confused. 

“Thank you,” Keith coos, picking up the toy and petting his dog’s head. An orgasm doesn’t really seem in the cards today. 

When Keith gets back to the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel, he checks his phone again. 

**Lance**  
8:45 AM  
>wanna come to the gym’s block party saturday? Hunk and Pidge are down, and I want to bring Nads and Syl  
>they wanna see “keef” again😊  
>you can come over after if you want  
>i’d ask you to hang out before then, but V’s in town and wants attention 🙄  
>she might come too

Keith furrows his brow, trying to remember who “V” is. _Right_. Veronica, Lance’s sister that lives in Toronto. His heart rate quickens at that, for some reason. Meeting family members seems like a _big deal_ , almost, and he and Lance just started… doing whatever they’re doing. They haven’t really _done_ much, yet.

Keith never met Dom’s family in the entire time they were together. He was from Trois-Riviėres, though, so it kind of made sense. But still. This isn’t something that’s in his realm of experience. 

He _has_ met Lance’s niece and nephew, though. Which is something. And Lance literally met Keith’s mother, so there’s that. It’s probably not even a big deal.

  
>yeah im down 🙃  


Keith pauses a moment, realizing what he just committed too. These block parties are usually outdoor barbecues in the park near the gym that commemorate its anniversary each year. There’s music, games, and a lot of _people_ — which could be an issue. Crowds can sometimes get overwhelming for Keith. This kind of thing is different than a small gathering with friends, or a friendly comp — it’s more unpredictable, and Keith has less of an idea what to expect. It’s not doing great things for his anxiety, but he really, _really_ wants to see Lance again. Pidge and Hunk, too, honestly.

He knows he should get out more. He’s been trying to for a while, and getting out of his comfort zone is an important part of trying to get some control over his issues. As much as he wants to avoid this kind of thing, he knows it’s healthier to take these kinds of risks.

There’s also something about Lance that… makes him want to be better. He makes Keith want to _do_ better than he has up until now. 

And with that, Keith decides that he’s definitely not going to back out. Not this time. 

. . .

“You gonna be at the block party?” Keith asks Acxa as he removes a bent axle from the bike he’s working on. 

“Probably,” she replies, taking a sip of water with her one clean hand. “Lotor asked us to come.”

Keith doesn’t need to pry to know that by “us,” she means her friends Ezor, Zethrid, and Narti. The four of them play for a roller derby league at the community centre right near the rock gym. Lotor and Allura’s block parties often include the neighborhood around the gym, and not just members themselves. 

“You still scared of him?” she asks, smirking. Keith huffs, blowing his bangs out of his face. He doesn’t look up from the bike. 

“Not really. He helped me with a problem last week and I got over it.” 

“Good.” Acxa leans back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “He only seems intimidating because he’s socially awkward. Kind of like you.”

“Ironic, coming from you.”

“Touché.” 

Keith smirks. It took Acxa a full month to say a word to Keith at work after he’d gotten hired. It’s not like he was helping, but he felt especially out of place being the new kid that got this job through his mom’s friendship with the shop owner. Turns out, Acxa was used to getting hit on by asshole bike-guy types and had no idea how to initiate interactions with guys she assumed were “straight.” When Dom had visited Keith at work one time, she realized her mistake and immediately took a liking to him because of "solidarity". 

They’ve become pretty good friends in the three-ish years he’s worked here. He’s been to a few of her derby games with his mom, and he brought Acxa as his “new girlfriend” to a barbecue at Shiro’s one time as a prank. Shiro didn’t buy a word of it, obviously, but played along just to fuck with Adam and Curtis. It was fun. 

“I still don’t get how Lotor’s best friends are all lesbians,” Keith mumbles, replacing the axle with a new piece. 

“What’s not to get?”

“I dunno, you folks don’t seem to hang out with straight guys.”

Acxa snorts, chuckles escalating into full-on laughter as she muffles her mouth with her water bottle. 

Keith looks up at her, frowning. “What?”

“Lotor’s not _straight_ , Keith.” She sighs shaking her head. “You think a straight dude would be best friends with _four_ lesbians?”

“Uhh.” Keith squints. “He’s… married to Allura? He has a baby —”

“He’s bi. Just ‘cause he’s married to a woman doesn’t make him straight, jeez.” 

“Huh,” Keith mumbles, staring into nothing. He supposes that makes sense, but his gay little brain sometimes has trouble wrapping itself around the idea that a man in a relationship with a woman could be anything other than straight. He should probably stop himself from thinking this, though, especially given that —

“Lance is bi,” he accidentally says out loud. Oops. 

“Oh?” Acxa raises her eyebrows. She knows about Lance already — Keith saw her the morning after their whole 30-hour hang out and needed to ramble about it to _someone_. Given that Acxa’s a coworker and not someone directly involved in his social circle, she’s perfect for that.

“Well, then it’s probably important that you remember that sort of thing.” The corner of her mouth quirks upward as she slides down to sit on the floor, meeting Keith at eye-level. “Being bi and being gay are distinct experiences.”

“Yeah. We, uh, kind of touched on that? Sort of.”

“Yeah?”

“We talked about coming out. It was… different for both of us.”

Acxa nods. She furrows her brow, running a hand through her indigo hair. “I’ve been an asshole before, about that kind of thing. I had a girlfriend a while ago who dated a man before me, and I’d joke that their relationship wasn’t real — that it ‘didn’t count,’ or whatever.” She bites her lip, meeting Keith’s gaze. 

“I said a lot of dumb stuff. She wasn’t sure about how she wanted to label herself, but I was always saying ignorant shit about how I’d never date someone openly bi. She broke up with me because it really got to her.” She looks away, absently tugging at the rings on her fingers. “I was young and dumb, and we only dated a few months, but it still wasn’t right. So, don’t do that, is what I’m saying. If Lance tells you about a girl he used to be with, just… take him seriously, okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith nods. Other than the hamster lady, Keith doesn’t remember Lance mentioning any past girlfriends or partners. To be fair, Keith hasn’t mentioned Dom either — talking about exes doesn’t seem like an appropriate topic of conversation when you’re just starting out with someone. Still, he finds himself wondering about Lance’s history — whether he’s had more experience than Keith with relationships, and whether that experience was with men, or women, or anyone that doesn’t fall on one side of the binary. They might get to it eventually… or they might not. Who knows. 

“I won’t be a dick,” Keith adds, firmly. “But… thanks. No one’s ever told me that.”

Acxa smirks. “Anytime.”

“What happened with your ex?” Keith asks, turning back to the bike. “Did you get to apologize, or whatever?”

“No,” Acxa sighs. “I don’t think she lives in the city anymore. But… I would if I could.”

Keith looks over at her, offering her a small smile. “You never know.”

She stares back at him resolutely, lips pursed together. “I will. One day.”

. . .

It takes Keith a solid eight minutes to decide what to wear to the block party.

This probably doesn’t sound like much, but it’s _ages_ compared to how he usually just grabs the first thing his hand touches. He’s well aware that he hasn’t seen Lance since Monday, and that he wants to keep making good impressions. It’s probably dumb, and it’s not like Keith himself ever notices when people are dressed nicely, but he wants to make the effort. 

He takes out a bunch of things — two band t-shirts, some black joggers, his only pair of denim cutoff shorts — and quickly realizes those four items represent 25% of his tops and bottoms, most of which are cooler-weather clothes and sportswear. Kosmo’s staring at him from the floor the entire time, clearly judging the shit out of him for A) caring so much, and B) not having any clue what he’s doing.

“Oh, fuck off,” Keith mumbles at his dog, who only cocks his head and twitches an ear. 

He settles on the black Pet Shop Boys t-shirt with a white graphic and dark wash cutoffs, figuring that it’s cool enough this afternoon to be able to wear darker clothes. After slipping them on, he turns to Kosmo.

“Do I look fuckable?”

Kosmo whines.

“Cool,” Keith mutters. As weird as it might look to an outside party, talking to his dog is something he always does to calm his nerves. He might not need to do it if he had a roommate, but what can you do. Life’s weird, dogs are good listeners, and it’s not like Keith’s got a normal brain anyway. 

He reaches up to tie his hair, and — _SNAP_. Oh fuck. 

“Noooo, no no no,” Keith mutters, bringing his newly-broken elastic to his face. _Fuck_ , it was his last one. This is an utter disaster.

He rushes over to his nightstand, opening the small drawer to dig through his mishmash collection of buttplugs, vibrators, empty medication containers, old phone chargers, and HA — nope, false alarm. That’s just _another_ broken elastic. 

“I’m gonna look like fucking Skrillex,” Keith mumbles, his eyes widening by the second. 

He sits on his bed, running a hand through his hair. After a moment, though, he gets an idea. 

His mom always ties her hair up with chopsticks. It looks cool, and it seems to hold well, so… why the fuck not. He could probably pull it off as something he’s done before.

In theory, it’s a good idea. In practice, it takes several YouTube tutorials for Keith to realize that he has absolutely no fucking clue how these women are succeeding. Also, he’s only got shitty disposable takeout chopsticks and really slippery Korean metal ones his grandmother gave him. None of it’s working, he still looks like Skrillex, and he’s running out of time. 

“I need help,” is the first thing out of his mouth when he gets to his mother’s, barging in through the door with Kosmo in tow. His dog greets her excitedly, wagging his tail and pawing at her feet. 

She raises an eyebrow the moment she lays eyes on his hair. “Did you… do something different?”

“Lance cut my hair,” Keith says, crossing his arms. “It looks better tied up, trust me.”

Krolia smirks, eyeing him as she scratches behind Kosmo’s ear. “Was the shaved underside your idea or his?”

“His.”

“Well,” she sighs, getting up, “must have taken an awful lot of trust. You hate getting haircuts.”

“I don’t — that’s not important.” He really hopes he’s not blushing. “I broke my last elastic and I was wondering if —”

“If I have a spare?”

“If you could show me… the chopstick thing.” 

“Oh,” Krolia’s eyes widen. She smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It takes a few attempts and a little longer than Keith would have liked, mainly given that his mom is intent on making him do the chopstick thing himself rather than rely on her. But after a solid ten or twenty minutes of practice, he gets it down pretty good. She gives him a handful of elastics just in case, though, insisting that he needs back up if it doesn’t hold. 

“Have fun at your party!” Krolia calls after him from her door, Kosmo sitting politely by her foot. 

“See you tomorrow,” Keith waves in return, grinning. He feels a little more at ease already — his mom’s presence often tends to do that. 

He’s not totally sure where he’s supposed to meet Lance and his squadron of roommates, children, and maybe a sister. The idea of needing to sift through the crowd to find them leaves an uneasy feeling in his gut. He takes out his phone at the next intersection, just to check if Lance left him any indication of where to —

 **Pidge**  
4:35 PM  
>your boy toy is dying rn nads and syl are being little shits  
>theyll be fine in a min prob but meet me and hunk on st dom and bernard

Keith blushes. Hard. He can’t help but wonder what exactly Pidge knows — it’s not like there’s all that much _to_ know, but… 

He’s probably gonna need to get used to the teasing. It’s kind of her thing. When he was with Dom, Pidge wouldn't stop referring to him as “Keith’s sugar daddy” because he was mildly older and had a full-time job in an accounting firm. He was a secretary, technically, but it didn’t stop her.

  
>ok be there soon  


It’s a little funny to think about now, given that Pidge is the most “adult” of all of them. She got a job as a level designer at Ubisoft after graduating and makes bigger bank than Shiro does as a PT. She could probably move out on her own, but she has no desire to leave her current living situation. In her words, Lance and Hunk would “accidentally kill themselves” without her. Keith figures that’s only a small part of it — she probably enjoys taking care of them. And he’s pretty sure she’s the one who bought most of their furniture.

So, technically, _she’s_ the sugar daddy here.

Keith smiles to himself, making a mental note to tease her about that later when he runs out of shit to say. 

“Hey, man!” Hunk calls out to him when he arrives. He and Pidge are stood at the edge of the park, music and crowds bustling around in the background. It doesn’t look all that busy, actually. Definitely manageable. 

“Hey,” Keith starts, before Hunk suddenly wraps him in a _very firm_ hug. It takes Keith a moment to come to his senses, because being physically close to large men tends to fuck with his head a little. But when he does, he pats Hunk on the back and grins. 

“Hi!” Pidge perks up, giving him a hug too. “Lance and Veronica are with the kids in the playground. They got into a fight with another kid.” She smirks. “Nadia threw dirt in his eyes.”

“Oh dang.”

“Nah, it’s cool. The little shit deserved it. Pushed Syl off the slide.”

“Good for her,” Keith says, nodding. 

They lead him through the park, passing Lotor and Allura at the barbecues and Coran leading a karaoke circle. They pass a lot of people around their age lounging in the grass. Keith squints, trying to make out whether he sees Acxa, but doesn’t seem to find her. 

“KEEF!” a high-pitched voice shrieks out. Suddenly, he’s nearly knocked over by two very fast moving objects, running at him and clinging to his torso. He looks down to see both Nadia and Sylvio grinning at him. 

“H-hey guys.” He pats their heads.

Sylvio grins impossibly wider. “Tìa Veronica said you and Tìo Lance kissed!”

Keith’s face flushes with burning heat. “Uhh —”

“Does that mean you’re our tìo now, too?”

“UHH —”

“OKAY KIDS, give Keith his personal space back!” Lance yells, his face panicked as he jogs over. He grabs their hands and pulls them back gently. “Go play with Hunk and Pidge!” He pushes them over to his friends, who lead them over to the playground, clearly snickering. 

“Sorry about that,” Lance mumbles, his face beet read. 

“Uh, no it’s cool,” Keith manages to get out. “They’re, uh — cute.”

Lance chuckles, looking at his feet and back up again. “Yeah, it lets them get away with being a little diabolical, but what can you do. Kids right?”

“Yeah,” Keith answers, though he has absolutely zero actual experience with kids. 

“So…” Lance starts, swinging his arms at his sides.

“So,”

“You must be Keith,” a voice interrupts, just as a woman with square-framed glasses and a wavy bob appears and snakes an arm around Lance’s shoulders. “Veronica,” she adds, offering him a hand. When he takes it, she gives Keith a _very_ obvious once-over, raising an eyebrow as she makes eye contact with him. He suddenly feels very exposed. 

“Cool hair.” She smirks. And then… leaves.

“Uh, alright,” Keith mumbles, simultaneously relieved and supremely confused. 

Lance steps closer to him. “She’s doing that to fuck with me.”

“Huh?”

“She uses the kids as pawns to tease me, and then takes a step back so they do all the work.” Lance rolls his eyes. “I can’t get mad at her because she _technically_ isn’t doing anything. She’s, like, _evil_.”

Keith snorts, crossing his arms. “Damn, she goes harder than Shiro.”

“Oh yeah, dude.” Lance shakes his head, eyes wide. “You have no idea how good you have it.”

He reaches over, a little tentative, into the space between them and brushes Keith’s hand lightly with an index finger. Keith’s eyes shoot to their hands, a little surprised. He swallows his nerves down and meets Lance’s gaze, eyes locking with his grey-blue irises. 

It’s grounding. He kind of forgot where they are and all the nerves that accompany this kind of situation. It’ll be alright, Keith realizes. Lance wants him here, and that’s enough to ease the slight tension in his chest.

“Is Shiro coming?”

“Nah,” Keith smirks. “He’s at an orgy.”

“WHAT?” 

He shrugs. “Sometimes Shiro and Curtis go to orgies at the bathhouse with Matt. Adam hates them, he usually stays home.”

Lance looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. It seems to take him a moment to process, but when he does, he huffs out a laugh.

“Okay, I’m gonna not tell Pidge about that, you’re welcome.”

“She’d probably kill you if you did.”

“Very true.” Lance glances back at their group, before turning to face Keith once again.“I’m happy you came,” he breathes, lip quirking upward just a tad, leaning in to his space. 

“Me too.” Keith smiles at him, hooking their fingers together. 

. . .

It’s really not bad at all.

They end up sitting near the playground so they can keep an eye on the kids. When they grab some food and beer from the barbecue area, Allura mentions that she wants to organize an outdoor bouldering and camping outing for interested gym members. There are no details yet, but Keith’s been itching to get out of the city and would be _extremely_ up for it. They jot their names down on a mailing list for interested parties. 

The event is still kind of loud, and there’s still a lot going on, but every time Lance brushes Keith’s hand or someone talks to him directly, he gets out of his own head. He plays with the kids a little, shows Nadia how to tie her hair up with a chopstick, and finds out that Veronica is really not all that scary. Most of her edge is only directed at Lance, but he’s quick to roll his eyes and make fun of her in return. 

At one point, when they’re all standing by the swingsets and chatting idly, a familiar eye catches Keith’s from a little ways away. He grins and waves over Acxa and her friends. 

They’re a little scary at first glance, kind of like an intimidating, dark and tattooed horde of amazons that could definitely take him in a fight — and Keith’s got years of martial arts training under his belt. Zethrid is butch and _very_ tall, taller then Shiro even. Her girlfriend, Ezor, has a similar haircut to Keith, he realizes, though her dyed hair is tied in high ponytail rather than a bun. Narti’s kind of got this goth thing going on, but Keith knows she only prefers wearing solid black because it’s easier to put outfits together with her visual impairment. Her guide dog, Bowzer, is a really fucking ripped pitbull that Keith would probably be afraid of if he didn’t already know how sweet and well behaved he is. He and Narti bonded over having service dogs, and have brought Kosmo and Bowser on a couple off-duty play dates.

“Hey!” Keith grins. 

They greet him warmly, exchanging hugs all around. Keith realizes that Zethrid’s hugs are strikingly similar to Hunk’s. 

“Lance, this is my coworker Acxa and —” 

The minute Keith looks over at Lance, his blood runs cold. Lance is glaring at Acxa, his jaw tensed and face like stone, a far cry from the warm grins and casual smirks he’s become accustomed to. When Keith looks over at Veronica, she’s clearly _very_ uncomfortable — her face bearing a striking resemblance to her brother’s. Keith has absolutely no clue what this could be about, but he does know one thing…

It’s not good. It killed the mood. And it’s completely his own fault. 

That last bit… doesn’t make any sense, honestly. But unfortunately, that’s not how his brain works. He’s got that voice in his head again, the one that feeds him fallacies and makes him believe them. It’s a voice he constantly needs to make a conscientious effort to quiet down, because if he doesn’t pay enough attention it’ll send him spiralling before he can do anything about it. 

-  
His chest feels like a dead weight, his hands shaking in their pockets. He’s vaguely aware that he might be sweating, but his skin feels like it’s running cold. 

“V?” Acxa breathes, eyes widening. 

“That’s me,” Veronica utters weakly. She grits her teeth together, shooting Lance a look out of the corner of her eye. He nods quickly, and reaches over to guide the kids over to the playground. 

This isn’t good. Keith can feel his breath quickening — in, out, in, out, faster and faster. He’s going to need to find somewhere to ride it out. 

He slinks back, body feeling a little numb as his vision tunnels and his legs take him away on their own accord. He sort of knows where he’s heading — there’s an alley behind the warehouses on the closest street. 

When he’s finally out of sight, he lets it out. Sinking down to the ground, back against a brick wall, he presses his palms against his eyes and tries to wrangle with his spiralling thoughts, reminding himself that it’ll pass as that irritating voice keeps telling him he fucked up, he shouldn’t have come, it would have been better if he’d stayed in like he wanted to in the first —

“Keith?”

In, out, in, out, in, out, —

“Buddy, hey, you’re breathing too quickly. Can you look at me?”

He opens his eyes, taking a moment to register Hunk’s face hovering in front of his own. 

“Can I touch you?” 

_I’m hyperventilating,_ Keith realizes belatedly. It takes a lot of effort, but he nods, struggling to keep his eyes on Hunk.

Two strong hands lightly grip his shoulders, gently rubbing up and down, and up, and down, and —

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be fine, alright? It'll pass.”

Keith nods again, opening his mouth and shutting it and opening it again. He can’t form words, yet, but he’s trying. 

His breaths slow, and he thinks he’s getting a handle on it, before they pick up once again.

“Hey, do you remember when you came over for tacos?”

Keith furrows his brow. That’s… an odd thing to bring up. He nods anyway.

“You came over, and Lance was taking forever in the bathroom, remember?”

Keith pauses. He huffs out a single laugh, his mouth quirking a little as his shallow breaths keep trudging on.

“Do you remember everything we had for dinner? Can you tell me what we had?”

Keith closes his eyes, trying to remember. He tries to picture the spread, everything that was laid out —

“Y-you. You made pork and beans.”

“Yeah. What did we drink?”

“Beer.”

“What kind?”

Keith looks at him, puzzled. “I… I dunno.”

“You sure?”

“Beer is beer, dude, I don’t know.” He shrugs, slowing his breaths down.

“Do you feel better?”

“What?” 

“You breathing okay?”

Keith takes a moment to assess — he realizes he _is_ breathing deeper than before. Not quite normally, not yet, but he’s not hyperventilating anymore and that voice in his head isn’t there. Instead, he’s most aware of the feel of Hunk’s hands running down his shoulders, down his arms, and back up again.  
-

“How — how did you do that?”

Hunk smiles. He squeezes his arms one last time before sitting back on his bum, crossing his legs in front of him. “It’s what Lance always did for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I had panic attacks.”

Keith just stares at him, his breaths slowing and slowing and the fog clearing in his head.

He inhales. He exhales. “What?”

“I used to get them real bad. I used to _puke_ out of anxiety, it was… pretty gross, honestly.” Hunk chuckles, shuffling over to sit next to him against the wall. “Before tests, before plane rides, before dates, before getting on the highway in a car, all sorts of things.” 

Keith just listens. Honestly, this is all really new to him. He doesn’t know all that many people in general, and definitely not anyone who’s experienced his brand of… brain stuff.

“Lance was used to it. We’ve been friends a long time, y’know? He figured out that if he got my mind off things by asking me random questions about something — like, forcing me to remember something unrelated, it helped.”

Hunk shrugs. 

“It didn’t always work, but it did more often than not.”

They’re quiet a moment. Keith takes the time to find his footing again, to savour the feel of breathing deeply in and in and in and out again. He feels more grounded than before, aware of the feel of the soles of his shoes on the pavement and his back against the rough brick wall. He leans his head against it, straightening his spine. 

“This happened before?” Hunk asks, his tone curious. 

“Yeah,” Keith huffs. “Yeah, it’s been a little while, but… I’m used to it.”

“You seeing someone about it?”

Keith feels the corner of his lip twitch upward. “Yeah… yeah, no, it’s a… thing.”

“A thing?”

“I, uh —” he runs a hand through his hair, realizing that the chopstick did, indeed, fall out at some point. He sees it on the ground between them, and picks it up, spinning it in his hands. “I had some… mild social anxiety when I was younger, but —” He sighs, figuring it would be good to get some things off his chest. “It got worse after I got this really bad concussion last year. It was like… amplified. And I had some… anger issues, and that didn’t help it. That part’s sorted now, but I still get scared I’ll fuck things up —”

Hunk nods in sympathy. He holds his gaze, smiling in encouragement. 

“I’ve got medication, a therapist, all the stuff. So —”

“You’re dealing with it.”

“Yeah. It’s being… dealt with.”

“I’ve got a therapist too.” Hunk says. He leans back against the wall. “Meds too. Seroxat.”

Keith chuckles. “Lexapro.”

“Does it make you shit your brains out too?”

He snorts. “Sometimes. Took some getting used to.”

It’s comfortable. Silent, for a few moments, but still comfortable. The weight in Keith’s chest is barely there anymore, and talking about this with someone who knows what it’s like is… something else. It’s _good_. Keith always avoided going to the support groups, not wanting to talk to a room full of strangers. But talking to Hunk is different. He knows him, they’re friends, at this point, and it’s easy. 

“You ready to go back?” Hunk asks. Keith notices he’s not suggesting going home. Going home is tempting, but it’s not the healthiest option here. The best option would be to go back and finish strong.

“Yeah… almost. In a minute.”

Hunk nods. He waits patiently, a solid presence at Keith’s side. 

“You mind… you mind not telling Lance about this?” Keith mumbles after a moment. He’s not quite ready, he realizes, for Lance to know absolutely _everything_ about this sort of thing. They’re only just starting, and Keith wants to maintain some sort of control over what gets shared. He’s a little guilty about it and he’s not sure if that would be lying, but it’s what he wants.

“It’s not mine to tell,” Hunk answers. Phew. “But… when you’re ready, telling him might be good. He’d understand.”

Keith nods, pursing his lips. “You guys are close, eh?”

Hunk laughs, full-bodied and warm. “Very. Lance is… He’s among the toughest people I’ve ever met.”

This gives Keith pause. “Tough” isn’t exactly an adjective he’s ever thought to ascribe to him, though he definitely doesn’t know Lance like Hunk does. 

“He’s really good at reading people. Almost… scarily good, sometimes. I don’t want to alarm you, but he’s going to notice that we left, and he _will_ ask about it. You don’t need to tell him everything, but don’t lie to him, okay?”

Keith nods, bringing his hands up to fix his hair. “Thanks, Hunk. I… I appreciate it.”

“No problem at all, dude.” Hunk smiles. “Just say the word if you ever want an ear.”

. . .

They get back to find Lance and Pidge sitting by the side of the kids’ play area. Sylvio and Nadia are still running around with the other kids, still energetic after a few hours of playing. The sun is lower in the sky, and the shadows on the ground are more stretched out. It’s been a while since they got here.

“Hey,” Hunk greets, sitting down to join them. Keith follows. 

“You guys okay?” Pidge asks, her expression open. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “All good. Everything okay here?”

“I dunno…” Lance mumbles. His eyes are fixated somewhere far off, his jaw tight. “I’ve got a weird feeling.”

Keith follows his eyeline, spotting Acxa and Veronica sitting together on a bench. They’re leaning in toward one another, clearly in the middle of some sort of intimate discussion. But surprisingly, they’re… _smiling_. Veronica, especially. 

“She’s my sister’s ex,” Lance says, more to Keith than anyone else. He doesn’t look away. “Was a real asshat to her.”

Oh.

 _Ooooh_. 

Everything clicks into place.

“That’s… damn, what are the chances?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Axca told me about her at work this week. Sort of. Not by name, but she mentioned an ex she wanted to apologize to.”

Lance frowns. “I think she apologized, like, twenty minutes ago.”

“And now they’re flirting,” Pidge chimes in, grinning maniacally. Lance elbows her in the ribs. “Ow!”

“I don’t like it.”

“Sucks for you, dude, ‘cause your sister can do whatever she wants. Or, _who_ ever she wants — ”

“Pidge, don’t be gross,” Hunk warns. “What’s Acxa like, Keith? You probably know her better than any of us.”

“She’s really cool,” Keith answers in an instant. “We work together. We’ve been friends for a while, but mostly at work. I’ve never known her to be… an “asshat,” or whatever.”

“Hmph,” Lance huffs.

“She plays roller derby.”

Pidge grins. “Ouuu, gay.”

Lance pouts. “Okay… fine. That’s pretty cool.”

They sit in silence a moment, attention drifting back to the bench where Veronica is talking animatedly now. Acxa’s arm is resting on the backrest, hovering close to her shoulders. They look… comfortable. 

“People can change,” Pidge interjects. “We’ve all been assholes at one point or another, it’s part of growth. Doesn’t mean you gotta let people back in with open arms, but…” She shrugs, leaning back on her elbows. “Sometimes people know they were wrong and just want a chance to make things right.” 

Keith’s not sure what it is that’s tipping him off, but something about the way she’s looking at Lance is clearly conveying some double meaning he can’t even begin to understand. He’s almost envious of the way Lance and his friends seem to know each other on such a deep level — like they can communicate in code, or just with their eyes. Keith sort of feels like he has that with his mom and Shiro, but… it’s different. 

Lance’s face scrunches up. He’s not really looking at any of them.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, eventually. He gets up, shooting Keith a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s getting a little late, I’m gonna round up the kids. Come over after we drop ‘em off?”

“Yeah,” Keith answers, still a little confused. It’s probably nothing. “Sounds great.”

. . .

Veronica offered to bring the kids back to Marco’s since she’ll be staying there tonight. They said their goodbyes and got back to the apartment without much of a fuss. Lance didn’t bring up the Acxa thing again. 

“I NEED WEED,” Pidge announces the minute they step through the door. “HUNK! Get the Oreos!”

“Roger!” Hunk calls, slipping into the kitchen.

Lance chuckles, shutting the door behind them and toeing off his shoes. “Kids secretly stress her out, she always needs to get high after being around them.” 

Keith smiles, slipping out of his vans.

“Do you… wanna join them? They usually go out onto the balcony, it’s pretty nice right after sunset. I know you don’t smoke, but we have beers — ” 

“No, honestly,” Keith responds rather bluntly. It’s been a long fucking afternoon and he barely got to hang out with Lance at all — just with Lance, that is. And he’s been kind of looking forward to this part all day.

It’s exhausting, trying to hold it together in a public setting like he just did… or _nearly_ did, considering the small hiccup. His body’s feeling kind of heavy and he’s tired, and he’d honestly rather just watch something mindless with Lance and unwind. After their 30-hour date, Keith realized how easy it is to just _be_ when they’re together. He only got a taste of it, but he needs more. ASAP.

“I’m kinda tired from all the — stuff.” Keith scrunches up his face, unsure if that sounded super fucking stupid.

Thankfully, Lance laughs. “I’m fucking exhausted, too, holy shit.” He shakes his head, leaning on the hallway wall opposite Keith. “Family, yaknow?”

Keith doesn’t really know. His family consists of his mom and his one living grandma.

“Wanna watch The Office?”

“Uh, fuck yeah,” Keith answers, grinning. He fucking LOVES the Office. 

“Cool,” Lance grins in reply. He gestures over his shoulder. “I’m gonna, uh — I’ll get my laptop from my room.

“Cool.”

Keith heads over to the living room, taking a moment to absorb his surroundings. The apartment is relatively unremarkable at first glance — but there are tiny little hints of character scattered throughout. The windowsill is lined with plants — a lot of them edible herbs, Keith realizes, save for one squat cactus in a colourful, painted pot with “TO TÌO FROM NADIA” scrawled on the side in purple paint. Keith smiles, moving over to the walls by the window where a vintage-esque Pacific Rim poster is hung up next to a small cork board of printed pictures of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge as teenagers. There’s one of Hunk holding a loaf of bread like a baby, Lance stood behind him with his arms wrapped around his middle. There’s one of Pidge reading a giant textbook in some grass, with Lance pulling his pants down and mooning the camera right behind her. 

Keith snorts, though a slight pang of jealousy hits him in the gut. This apartment feels so lived in — indicated by not only by the decor, but by Pidge’s giant headphones strewn on the backrest of the sofa, a dog-eared open recipe book lying on the coffee table. It’s evidence of being lived in by people who know and love one another, who have a kind of bond that Keith’s never really experienced, too “independent” to ever let himself get this close to people. 

He didn’t go to CEGEP or university, confident early-on that school wasn’t the right path for him. Really, he just didn’t know what he wanted to do, and he knew he’d have to pay for it himself given that his mom didn’t have much money. He moved out at eighteen and worked in dish pits, painted houses, and walked dogs to pay for weed, muay thai classes, bike parts, and tattoos. And it was fine. He had Shiro, he had his mom, and later, he had his job at the bike shop. And life felt perfectly _alright_.

Looking back, he can’t help but feel that he’d missed out on… something. While he was scrubbing dishes for money to finish his sleeve, worrying about whether the handlebars on his latest project could be adjusted a little higher, Lance had been learning things. And making friends. And getting taken care of by his probably very devoted and loving family. And it’s not like Keith feels he’s been wronged by the universe in some way — everyone gets dealt a different set of cards, and you just need to accept them and work with what you’ve got. But he can’t help but feel that maybe he’s been doing this all wrong. 

The idea of going back to his empty apartment tonight seems especially dreadful. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Lance says as he enters the room, ripping Keith away from his thoughts. He plops himself down on the couch, balancing his laptop on his forearm as he haphazardly moves over the recipe book, phone charger, empty coffee mug and notebook on the coffee table. 

Keith moves to join him, taking a hesitant seat a foot away. “It’s, uh. It’s fine, I like it.”

“Oh?” Lance raises an eyebrow at him, setting down the laptop. 

“Yeah, it’s… It’s lived in.” He pokes at the mug, turning it slightly to reveal the word “PENIS” spelled out in giant black letters on its side. “Wha —”

“Pidge gifted it to me in April after I did well in all my classes.” Lance snickers. “Turn it around.”

Keith rotates it. “BALLS” is etched out in an identical font on its other side.

“She got it custom made,” Lance tacks on. He puts a hand to his heart and sighs, faux-wistful. “So considerate, you know?”

Keith laughs, poking the mug once more before settling back on the couch. Lance opens up Netflix and pokes through a few seasons of the Office, before settling on “Stress Relief” — one of Keith’s favourite episodes. Lance turns off the overhead light and turns on a single, more subdued lamp in the corner of the room. It’s warm, it’s comfortable, and Keith feels like he can breathe easily. 

“Where’d you and Hunk go off to?” Lance asks casually, right as the theme song starts. He rests his leg over his knee, lying back with his arm on the couch’s backrest. “Right after Acxa showed up, I turned around and you were gone.”

Keith doesn’t really want to answer. He doesn’t want to lie either. 

“I, um, I needed a moment.”

“Oh?”

Keith fiddles with the emergency elastic he’d put on his wrist, not looking at Lance. Why is this so hard? 

“Sometimes… I dunno, sometimes I need a break. Crowds, noise, whatever. I don’t really go to a lot of… events.” It’s not a lie. It’s not the whole truth either.

“I get that,” Lance chimes in, smoothly like it’s something he hears every day. Keith looks up at him, finding his face still focused on the screen, totally relaxed. “I wanted to do that too, today was pretty intense.”

Well, then. That was easy.

Keith relaxes further, slipping the chopstick out of his hair and leaving it on the coffee table, he ties up his hair in an elastic so he can relax comfortably against the couch, aware of Lance’s eyes trailing after him. He’s not sure if Lance wants to keep talking about it, or would rather let it slide.

“I liked the hair, you know.” That answers that.

“Yeah?” Keith sits back, lying his head against the couch cushions. 

Lance smiles languidly, bringing his head back to match. “Yeah, it was cool. I uh —” He purses his lips in thought. “I wanted to spend more time with you today, but it was… It was pretty chaotic with the kids and the drama with V, so… I’m sorry if I wasn’t super available —”

“It’s fine,” Keith interrupts, catching Lance’s self-deprecation before it starts. “I had fun.” He smiles, scooting a tiny bit closer. There’s still a noticeable gap between them — Keith’s not entirely sure where they stand on sharing physical space, or whatever. But Lance’s arm is on the backrest, hovering behind Keith’s head. And he knows this, and Lance definitely knows it too, but they’re still sort of staring at one another, and —

Fuck it. 

Keith scoots further in to rest his head on Lance’s arm, right near his shoulder. Lance’s face lights up super fucking bright as if he’d been waiting that all day, and Keith feels his arm wrap around his shoulders like they’ve done this before. 

He sinks into it, body and head heavy with everything that’s happened and just exhales, lets it out as he pushes into Lance’s solid shoulder, side against his chest. Keith hasn’t been held like this in a long, long time and he might be just a tad touch-starved, but it’s _so_ good that he doesn’t want to do anything else for a while. The noise from the laptop feels faint in the background, drown out by Lance resting his head on top of Keith’s, his lips delivering a soft but very, _very_ faint kiss to his head —

It’s so much. It’s nearly overwhelming, as if everything Keith’s felt today just bubbles up to the surface and exits his body in one fell swoop, a massive release that just explodes, leaving Keith swimming in a weird mix of delirious happiness and exhaustion and remnants of nervousness that just compound and compound into —

Tears. He’s crying, really really softly but still crying against Lance’s t-shirt. And he’s aware that this is really uncalled for, but he can’t exactly stop himself. It’s just that… he’s been so alone, for such a long time and crying like this after a particularly rough day is just something that happens sometimes. He can’t really help it. Except this time, Lance is here. And he’s warm and he’s still hugging Keith, even though his face looks pretty bug-eyed and panicked when Keith takes a peek through heavily-lidded eyes. 

Thing is, he could _try_ to avoid these kinds of things. He could try to shove it down and hide this part of himself from Lance — the part that doesn’t have a handle on normal emotional responses, that is. And he did try. But it didn’t work. And now, his body’s letting Lance know for him — it’s reminding him that everything still happened today and that Lance is going to know about it regardless of whether Keith wants to tell him. And it sucks, and it’s not how he wants to spend the limited time they have together, but it’s happening anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Keith mutters, sitting up and sniffling. He wipes his eyes, pressing his palms over them for just a sec to try to hold the tears in. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Keith hears the sound of Lance hitting his spacebar, pausing the episode they’re supposed to be watching. His left arm is still around Keith, thumb rubbing small circles into his shoulder. “Take your time, it’s okay.”

He’s not sure how long he takes. Thing is, Keith’s not sad. Not really. He’s very happy to be here right now, but he’s just… emotional. It’s emotion that’s not exactly tied to anything — it’s just emotion that comes out when he’s feeling most comfortable, when he’s not trying hard to put walls up. So if anything, that must mean something. That for some reason, his subconscious is just as comfortable here with Lance as it is when he’s alone. 

He can’t dwell on that too hard, though. Not while he still owes Lance some sort of explanation.

“I… I had a rough day,” he starts. He’s breathing solidly, keeping his eyes on his hands in his lap, still blinking back a few tears. “I dunno how else to — thank you,” he interrupts himself, as Lance hands him a tissue from the side table. He cleans up a bit before continuing. “I had a panic attack.”

“What?” 

“That’s why I was gone. Hunk too, he found me. I just — it’s fine. I’m fine. It happens.”

Lance doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wraps his arms around Keith, cupping the back of his head gently and pulling him into a tight hug. Keith savours it, nosing the column of his neck. 

“I — I’m sorry, I should have noticed —”

“No, no, no it’s fine, really. I’m… I’m used to it. It happens.”

He can feel Lance’s pulse against his own face. Keith breathes in, smelling a faint hint of sunscreen mixed with something else that’s probably just deodorant and whatever else Lance smells like. It’s almost familiar, at this point. Almost committed to memory.

“What do you need?” Lance asks, whispered in Keith’s ear like a secret. As if they aren’t the only two people in the room.

Keith pulls away, reluctantly. Wiping at his eyes, he sighs and leans back against the couch, releasing one long exhale. His head lolls to the side, quickly taking in Lance’s wide eyes and downturned brows. He looks expectant. Open.

“I wanna watch The fucking Office.” Keith smirks, aware that he must look super exhausted right now. 

Lance twitches, kind of in shock but before either of them know it, they’re giggling harder and harder until Keith’s snorting into his hand, blinking away the last of the tears. Lance shakes his head, leaning over to press play on his laptop and sits back, this time not hesitating for a second before he wraps an arm around Keith. 

“This good?” he asks, searching his gaze with a small smile tugging at his lip. Keith nods, smiling back.

“Yeah, yeah it’s good.”

They finish the episode. They start another one. They laugh, and Keith feels lighter than he has all day. Lance doesn’t ask any more questions, but Keith knows that if he wanted talk about it, he could. 

He will, one day. For now, though, he just wants to enjoy himself. He’s fucking earned it. 

At the end of the second episode, Pidge and Hunk are still nowhere to be seen. The credits roll, and Keith and Lance just look at one another, waiting for one of them to suggest that they keep going. 

But Lance doesn’t say anything. And Keith doesn’t say anything, either. Instead, he leans forward, slow, suddenly wondering if this is what Lance is thinking as well. For a second, he’s not sure. But Lance leans in before he can doubt any further. 

It’s one of those kisses that starts out strong right out the gate. It’s hard, firm, lips pulling one another apart. Keith melts into it, sighing audibly and rotating his hips to get a better angle. 

“Wait, wait —” Lance pushes him back lightly, searching Keith’s face. “You sure? I don’t wanna, like, take advantage —”

“It’s not — I _want_ to, Lance.” 

“Yeah?”

“I feel a lot better. Sometimes… I dunno, sometimes you need to just get it out, you know? I’m good.”

“Okay.” Lance nods, pressing their foreheads together. “As long as you know you can stop whenever.”

“I know… What about you?” Keith asks, pulling back. “No… pain or anything?”

Lance shakes his head, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Nope, been good all week.”

“Okay.” Well, shit. This is happening. “Okay, good.”

-  
They catch each other’s lips in a kiss — it's unclear who went for it first. His teeth nipping and sucking at Keith’s bottom lip, Lance scoots back against the armrest, parting his legs a little. Keith takes it as an invitation. He leans in further, pushing them both down until he’s settled nicely between Lance’s thighs, hips rutting and hands snaking up his neck, up into his hair. Lance’s hands find his back, then his ass, and Keith eggs him on, pushing himself into it. He’s been waiting for this. He’s been wanting this all week. 

They’re both hard, that much is obvious. It’s impossible to ignore. Keith reaches a hand down, cupping Lance’s dick in his jean shorts and squeezing. Lance sighs, his head leaning back, exposing his neck as Keith lowers himself to bite along his ear, along his jaw.

“Can I — can I use my mouth?” Damn. His voice sounds _wrecked._

“Mhm,” Lance nods, pushing his hips forward a little. 

He drags Lance’s t-shirt up, exposing his tanned abdomen and soft, brown happy trail. Keith kisses it, lower and lower as his hands fumble with the button fly of his shorts. He pulls them down, _just_ enough to expose the bulge in Lance’s blue and white striped boxer briefs, straining against the fabric. 

Fucking _nice_. It’s been a while. Keith can’t wait. 

Still, he wants to ease into it. He mouths at Lance’s length, sucking the fabric and listening to Lance’s moans grow a little louder each time. He runs his hands up his thighs, sighing and hooking his hands under the waistband —

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, GET A ROOM!” 

Keith falls off the couch, his side hitting the ground unceremoniously as Lance jerks upward like a rod, pulling his t-shirt down over his boner.  
-

“I’m too high for this, holy shit, uuuugh,” Pidge groans, small hands shielding her eyes behind her glasses as she extricates herself back into the hallway. Hunk walks in, gaze trailing after her before he brings his attention to the couch, taking in the scene. He squints, eyes clearly heavily-lidded and bloodshot. 

“Whaaat? Oh shit! Okay, I’ll leave you guys alone I just really wanna make danishes and I need my book —” 

He tiptoes over, grabs the big recipe book from the coffee table and bounces out of the room.

“Have fun! Oh —” Hunk’s head peeks around the corner, eyes wide. “Lance, I borrowed your condoms a little while ago but I think I left them in the medicine cabinet —”

“THANK YOU HUNK.”

“Yep! Bye!” He waves, disappearing into the hall. 

Keith’s chest heaves. He sits up, steadily looking over at Lance, flushed with embarrassment. Honestly, that was the mood killer of all mood killers, but Keith’s been waiting so fucking long for this he’s not entirely sure he even gives a shit. Lance’s eyes are wide like saucers, staring at him as if it’s up to Keith whether they… keep going? Stop? 

“Uhh —”

“Bedroom?” Keith interrupts. Fuck it, honestly. 

“Yep, you bet.” Lance is up on his feet before Keith can even process, helping him up with a hand. When they get to the hallway, a faint, “ _It’s burned into my retinas! I can’t unsee it!—_ ” echoes from the kitchen, but Keith literally doesn’t care. They’ll be quiet, or whatever. They’ll figure something out.

“Shit, wait —” Lance sputters, turning back to where they came from the moment they enter his room. Keith sort of just stands there feeling incredibly awkward, glancing around the room for something to do with his body. He fumbles with the hem of his shirt, contemplating whether to take it off before —

“Sorry, sorry, music,” Lance rambles, returning with his open laptop and a box of condoms in tow. He plunks it down on a messy desk, plugging in an aux cable attached to a set of old speakers. “Soooo, what do you wanna bang to? I have ‘‘90s baby makers,’ but… I guess we can’t make babies, cause… good playlist though —”

“Lance?”

“I have another one but it’s mostly Destiny’s Child —”

“Lance.”

“I feel like most of these won’t work for, like… dude sex —”

“Lance!”

“But I mean, gender is a construct —”

“Are you freaking out?”

“What?” Lance spins around, scoffing. He shakes his head vigorously. “No wayyy, I’m _so_ chill right now.”

“You don’t… you don’t seem chill?”

Lance looks conflicted. His face twists, hands entering his pockets as he stands up straighter. “I — fuck.” He ruffles his hair, making his way over to the bed and plopping back on it, gazing straight up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, I just — I think I built this up in my head and I wanted it to go perfect, but…”

Keith sits, leaning back on one elbow to face him. 

“I want this, like… _a lot_ , trust me. It’s just —”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been a while — It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone I, y’know. Uuuugh,” he runs his hands down his face, clearly embarrassed. Keith’s still kind of confused, but wants more than anything for Lance to feel okay. He reaches over, hesitantly cupping the hand that’s resting on his abdomen. 

“Someone you what?”

“Someone I _like_ , like… want to date, I dunno. Someone I don’t just want to fuck.” 

“Oh.” Keith raises his eyebrows, heart racing. That’s… he figured that was what was going on here, but he hadn’t thought about hearing it out loud. Hearing it out loud is…

It’s something else. 

“I just wanted it to go well —”

“I, uh.” Keith swallows. “I like you too…”

Lance pauses, looking at him incredulously. It terrifies Keith for a split second, but Lance is laughing before he even knows it. _What the hell_?

“Oh my god, Keith, what are we — five?”

“Wha — _hey_!”

“We’re fucking grown ass men,” Lance wheezes, clutching Keith’s hand to his chest. “Holy shit.”

It takes a moment, but Keith finds himself laughing along all the same. He can’t really help it, either. This entire thing — this day, as a whole’s just been so _fucking_ absurd.

“Okay, so, we both freaked out, so,” he lies on his side, still facing Lance. “We’re even, I guess.”

“Heh, yep.” Lane turns his face, smiling brightly. He sighs, running a thumb absent-mindedly over Keith’s knuckles, squeezing his hands a little. “I don’t wanna… go all the way. Yet.”

“That’s okay.”

“But… I don’t mind picking up where we left off.” Lance quirks an eyebrow. “If you want to.”

Fucking hell does Keith want to. 

“Um… yeah.” Wow. Smooth. “Do you still want music? Or —”

“Honestly, no.” Lance shakes his head. “My meds are wearing off, it might distract me.”

Oh… _meds?_ Damn this entire day has just been chalk full of truths.

“I’ve heard Hunk and Pidge do shit too, so… whatever,” Lance continues. “I don’t care. Our apartment’s big anyway, and they’re super high right now, and it’s tough to hear stuff from the kitchen. That okay?”

“Yeah. One hundred percent.”

“Okay.”

They sort of take a moment — let the dust settle, let the quiet of the room sink in. Lance keeps rubbing Keith’s knuckles on his chest, faces still only a foot apart, maybe less. This time, it’s slower. This time, Lance leans in first and the kiss isn’t firm or desperate, but soft. Patient.

-  
This time, they take longer to get comfortable. Lance makes a show of fluffing up the excess of pillows at the head of his bed, Keith laughing and throwing one at his face in the process. This time, they take off their clothes first until they’re both naked. Lance runs his hands over Keith's chest and abdomen, marveling at him like he's something special. Keith doesn't remember the last time someone looked at him like that. 

A faint hum travels through the door from the kitchen, the sound of Pidge and Hunk watching something. It’s hard to make out what it is, though. It gives them the privacy they need.

This time, Keith doesn’t just go for it. He takes his time, stroking Lance up to full-mast, breathing into his mouth and swallowing his sighs, their faces pressed together. 

This time, he asks if Lance is clean. He responds in the affirmative — hasn’t had sex since he was checked last. Same for Keith.

He takes it slower than before, using his mouth to appreciate the softness of Lance’s inner thighs, dusted with hair and smelling less like sunscreen and deodorant and more like whatever it was that was just _him_. It’s warm, and Lance is patient, running his fingers through Keith’s hair and scratching lightly at his scalp.

When he’s finally got him in his mouth, Keith breathes a sigh of relief. The buzzing in his head and chest gone, his attention focused on Lance’s hand in his hair, other hand on his shoulder, the pressure from the bed beneath him, the heaviness between his lips, weighing down on his tongue. When he looks up, Lance looks so fucking beautiful, he stops caring about anything else. 

He doesn’t give a shit about the panic attack. It’s in the past. Doesn’t care about their clumsy start to this, or his accidental display of emotion back on the couch. It’s not a big deal, really, not any of it. Not compared to this.

Lance finishes in his mouth, and it only takes a few seconds for him to stroke Keith before he’s spilling between them. It comes out in an arch, straight over Lance’s shoulder onto the pillow. Lance says something really fucking stupid like “woah, nice height!” and Keith punches him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt, though. Obviously.  
-

“You’re so fucking dumb,” Keith mutters into his chest, afterward. He’s smiling, though. He doesn’t really mean it.

“Hey, you still blew me,” Lance sighs, grinning from ear to ear. “Must be one of my charm points.”

The cuddling is nice, but Lance cuts the whole basking in the afterglow thing short because he insists they need to “pee and clean up” to prevent UTIs. 

“I never got a UTI from not peeing after —”

“Well congratulations, Mister Good Bladder.”

Keith nearly panics for a moment, worried he might have offended. Lance is quick to silence it, though, smirking and throwing a towel at him. 

-  
They only have one towel, though, so Lance stealthily leads their way to the bathroom, glancing around corners like a thief to avoid getting spotted by Hunk and Pidge. Once in the shower, Keith just stands there while the water heats up, and Lance starts pissing right in front of him.

“Wha — what the fuck?!”

“Keith, are we dating?” Lance asks midstream, eyebrow quirked.

“Uhh.. Yeah? I guess.”

“Okay, then let me pee in front of you.”

Fair point. 

Keith never really thought about how the whole “are we dating” conversation would go. He definitely didn’t imagine it would be like this — arms crossed, facing Lance as he shakes his dick to get the last of his piss out, in a bathtub that’s only _just_ big enough for two guys their size. But romance is a construct anyway, Keith figures. Everyone does it differently. So, he takes a piss as well.

Doesn’t stop them from making out in the shower.  
-

The moment they open the bathroom door afterward (both wrapped in towels this time), a strong whiff of freshly-baked goods hits them in the face. 

“Do you guys want apricot danishes?!” Hunk calls from the kitchen. Lance glances back at Keith.

“Up to you, dude.”

Keith blinks. “Uh… yeah, actually. Clothes first, though?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lance winks. “Totally forgot about that.”

Back in the bedroom, Lance throws him a pair of clean boxer briefs, drawstring shorts, and a pink t-shirt with dinosaurs all over it. When Keith starts to protest, Lance clamps a hand over his mouth and tells him it’s his favourite t-shirt, and that he deserves only the best. Keith begrudgingly accepts. 

“You’re a tool,” Keith mutters, slipping it on as they make their way down the hallway. 

“You love it,” Lance retorts, pulling on his own very plain and not embarrassing oversized blue t-shirt.

Hunk and Pidge greet them with warm smiles when they arrive, apparently in the middle of watching 90 Day Fiance. A bunch of really beautiful fresh apricot pastries are cooling on a wire rack by the stove. Pidge doesn’t make any snide remarks — only laughs at Keith’s t-shirt — before drawing her attention back to the screen, where a dumb midwestern dude is adjusting to life in rural Ecuador. 

“Can I, uh… can I stay the night?” he asks Lance, taking a seat at the table.

“Dude, obviously,” Lance beams, handing him a pastry.

It warms Keith’s heart — all of it: The way Pidge starts psychoanalyzing the people in the reality show; the way Hunk pours everyone tall glasses of water; the way Lance holds his hand under the table, running his thumb along his knuckles. 

It may not seem like much, but to Keith — it’s kind of everything.

He’s never felt so accepted in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuuuuuck that was a 12k chapter. Oops! My hand slipped.
> 
> I'm aware that there is slowly less and less actual sports in this and more and more other stuff, and I hope that doesn't bother anyone. Really, the climbing stuff is just a backdrop to the slice-of-life/romance/dealing with health things here. That being said, there will be more sports. But it's really not the centre of this fic.
> 
> \--warning for a very long tangent about names--
> 
> Whenever I introduce an alien character in a modern AU, I always like to google their name to see if it exists in a human language. Usually I come up with jack shit since most of these names are made up, but apparently Acxa is a Malayalam name for girls. I have no clue how true this is, but I'm just gonna roll with it. Since Malayalam is a language spoken in the Indian state of Kerala, I'm HCing that Acxa's family is Indian/South-Asian in this fic. 
> 
> As someone with an unconventional/ethnic name where I live (my name is Selin! it's Turkish), I like when characters have names that are representative of their ethnicity. This is why Lance's last name is Espinosa in my fics. I don't have a problem with "Lance McClain" at all (It's a good name!) but ethnic name rep is important to me in my own writing, given my last name is Turkish as fuck. I also think it's realistic for characters with ethnic names to sometimes have anglicized first names they use more often, as this is pretty normal in my experience. I tend to pronounce my own name more like "Suh-lin" in English and "Celine" in French rather than its Turkish pronunciation, because I live in Quebec and it's just easier that way. But this is a massive tangent, and I'm going to stop myself before things get out of control lmao.
> 
> Oh, I'm also HCing that Kyung-Hwa is Krolia's Korean name, and that she's half Korean and Half Japanese on her father's side, and that her parents married in Canada - hence the Japanese last name, Kogane. Keith has a hyphenated last name because his parents were unmarried. His father's name was Jean-Pierre and his last name was Roy,  
> (pronounced "rwa") an extremely common queb name over here. Turns out that first attempt to stop myself didn't work, so I'm gonna end things here lmao.
> 
> Also, fun fact: Allura is a real English name. This kind of makes sense, but I was still surprised when I found out. Now I am ACTUALLY stopping.
> 
> If you read all of this, thank you ahhaha. And big thank you for reading this chapter!! Hope you're all having a nice weekend.


	8. Girl and Boy Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anyway, I don’t know what to do. About the ex thing.”
> 
> Coran hums, flattening his moustache deep in thought. He looks over at Lance, and smiles. “I think you already know what you need to do.”
> 
> “Uh, I do?”
> 
> “Of course! The answer is already inside you, you just need to trust yourself.”
> 
> “... It is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Things were dicey for a second this week, and I didn't think I'd end up updating this weekend. I'm never gonna promise to update every weekend consistently, but it's sort of just worked out so far. I'm on new medication, though, and healing from a back injury, so I'm trying to go easier on myself when it comes to self-imposed deadlines! 
> 
> I promise, we're gonna get some actual climbing next chapter. I had to suspend my gym membership (sad times) because I fucked up my back, so I gotta live vicariously through this fic for the next little while.
> 
> Anyway, here's 7k words about Lance freaking out over a Facebook message. Mild CW for anxiety, though Lance's anxiety manifests differently and a lot less viscerally than Keith's.
> 
> Thank you SO much for reading, and I hope you enjoy chapter 8!

So, everything is great, really. Everything is going just fucking fine, and Lance is happy and apparently Keith is happy and his bladder is happy and it’s all well and good. So obviously, the universe decides to throw a wrench in it.

Lance stares at the one unopened message in his “message requests” inbox, glaring at him in bold text. He’s had one sitting there for months, now, relegated to the back of his mind where he left it to stew, planning on never opening it. 

And now, only a few minutes prior, he got a new one. From the same person.

**Jen Shaybon**  
**10:37 AM**  
**hey i know you probably hate me bu…**

Thing is, he kind of does. He _does_ kind of hate her for trying to claw her way back into his life right now, when things are just starting to get _really_ good. He doesn’t hate her for what happened four years ago, though, because no matter what anyone says, Lance believes it’s hard to hate someone for something they did in the distant past. 

He has no doubt she’s sorry. He doesn’t doubt she’s probably grown up and changed since “the incident,” either. Hell, so has he. He was a real asshole then, too. Not to her, exactly, but still. 

He just doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“OH SHIT! Another one!” Pidge yells, leaning over his shoulder. _Shit_ , he had no idea she was even home.

He slams his laptop closed, glaring at her. “The FUCK?! Why are you here?”

“Took a day off,” she shrugs, before making her way over to the fridge. “We’re in post-prod and shit’s slow right now. I’m waiting to get assigned to a new project.”

“Hey guys!” Hunk greets, strolling into the kitchen. 

“HUNK! Lance got another message from Jenny!”

“Oooooh snap! You gonna open it?”

“No,” Lance grunts, getting up and grabbing his laptop. He makes it almost halfway to his room when Pidge runs in front of him, cutting him off with outstretched arms. 

“No avoiding, we’re gonna talk about it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Dude,” Hunk says softly, placing a solid hand on his shoulder. “You’re pissed. You probably feel like shit, I get it. But maybe it’ll help to let it out?”

He does consider it. He considers talking about it — but that would require saying a bunch of shit out loud. It would require verbal acknowledgement of some of his worst fears right now. And he doesn’t really want to give his fears that kind of power. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters. “You guys do too much for me, anyway. I don’t wanna bother you with it.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Hunk sighs. “You know we’re never bothered.”

“Yeah,” Pidge pipes up, crossing her arms. “We bother you all the fucking time, and you don’t care. It’s not a big deal.”

Lance doesn’t really have time to reply. Before he knows it, they’re leading him back into the kitchen, Hunk’s giant hands plopping him down at the table. 

“Fine. _Fine_ , I’ll talk,” Lance grunts, running his fingers into his hair, elbows resting on the tabletop. “But you need to make coffee. I need some.”

“ _Lance,_ ”

“Look, I slept like shit last night, okay? I haven’t been in pain for a bit and I don’t give a shit right now. If you want me to talk, that’s what I want.”

Truth is, it was one of those nights where sleep was hard, but he wasn’t really sorry about it. His brain had just been replaying his entire night and morning with Keith over and over, and it was making him really fucking happy and wired and he couldn’t really get any shuteye. 

After hanging out with Hunk and Pidge, he and Keith retired to his room to watch another episode of the office in bed and cuddle naked. It was fucking awesome, honestly, and they passed out right after. 

Turns out, Keith sleeps like he’s in a coma. Lance learned this in the morning, when he woke up a full half hour before him and fucked around on his phone, intermittently watching him not move an inch and breathing steadily. The light from the window trailed over keith’s undone hair spilling over Lance’s pillow, and he had one arm raised up over his head. It was really surreal. Lance hadn’t woken up next to someone like that in a really long time. 

When he woke up, they kissed _even though_ they both had morning breath. And then they got kinda horny and jerked each other off like animals. But it was still really fucking awesome, and Lance has absolutely no regrets. 

Hunk cooked Sunday breakfast for everyone, and Keith stayed and ate and he laughed _so much_ it was so fucking cute. His hair was tousled from going to bed half-wet, and he kept talking and grinning with his mouth full of pancake. It was sorta hard to imagine him _not_ being there with them, you know? 

Thing is, it was all amazing. Even the part where Keith cried and they talked about his rough day felt so real and unfiltered. It was so different than anything Lance was used to with partners. He felt so trusted, and it warmed him up from the inside out. 

So it’s just… generally unfair that Jenny decided to message him literally two days later. It’s completely thrown him for a loop.

“Lance?” Someone says, kinda distant. Lance snaps back to the present, suddenly aware of the very milky coffee and two Prelief tablets sitting in front of him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, reaching for a sip from his “PENIS BALLS” mug. _Damn,_ coffee is so good. Holy shit.

“Sooo, you gonna talk?” Pidge prods, slinking into a chair next to him with her own cup. 

“Whaddya wanna know?”

“We could start with why you never opened her first message,” Hunk says, taking a seat as well. This whole thing feels like some sort of weird boardroom meeting about Lance’s love life, and he is _not_ a fan.

“Because I don’t want to talk to her.” Lance rests his head in his hand. “Next question?”

“And why don’t you want to talk to her?” Pidge perks up.

The real reason is that she’s stirring up a lot of shit he thought he could put to rest. Thing is, there’s a reason Lance has been apprehensive about relationships. It’s hard not to be when your last real one ended so abysmally that even Tìa Abuela Mercedes was gossiping about it for months. 

Thankfully, he didn’t really need to worry about being in a relationship for four years. Until now, apparently. At least, that seems like what’s happening.

Lance has no fucking clue how to articulate any of it, though. Not when so much of it is just inexplicable feelings and anxieties and emotional scars he doesn’t even fully understand. 

“I just don’t see how it would do any good.” It sounds kind of flimsy, but it’s the best he can do.

“You know,” Hunk starts, fiddling with his mug. “You never really properly forgave her.”

“She never said she was sorry.”

Pidge groans. “Maybe that’s what she’s _trying_ to do? Right now?”

Fair. Point for Pidge. Still, Lance doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not gonna get over it until you forgive her, Lance.” 

Okay, who the fuck gave Hunk the right to be so damn reasonable about all of this?

“You guys suck. Why are you torturing me?”

“Okay, look,” Pidge reaches over, resting a hand on his forearm. “I don’t wanna pull the Keith card —”

“Don’t do it, Pidge.”

“But do you really think it’s healthy to get into something with him when you’re _still_ dealing with shit from your last relationship? I know it’s been four years, but there’s no way all the Jenny stuff isn’t making you anxious about dating someone.”

“Uuuuunnghh,” Lance groans, burying his face in his hands. Honestly, they’re too fucking good at reading his mind and he needs new friends who don’t understand him at all. 

“Why don’t you just open the message?” Hunk sighs. “You don’t even need to answer, just read it.”

“But then she’d see I read it and I would HAVE to answer!”

“No, not necessarily.” Pidge smirks, bringing her coffee to her lips. She takes a long, audible slurp and clears her throat dramatically, setting her mug down. “You can put your phone on airplane mode. No internet, no ‘seeing’ the message.” She leans back in her chair, arms crossed in satisfaction.

Lance squints. “You sure that works?”

“Yep,” Pidge shrugs. “Do it all the time.”

He looks over at Hunk, who only shrugs in response as well. Huh. Admittedly, this changes things. 

“Okay _fine_.”

“Yesssss,” Pidge pumps her fist in the air. Lance drags his phone out of his pocket, opens the messenger app, and takes a deep breath before opening the message.

 **Jen Shaybon**  
FEB 21 at 10:05 PM  
>hey. I know we havent talked in forever but i just wanted to check in and see how youre doing. Whats new?

Okay, pretty innocuous. Lance scrolls down. 

TODAY at 10:37 PM  
>hey i know you probably hate me but i really just want to know if youre ok. Do you want to get a beer or something? 

Alright. What the fuck?

“What the _fuck_?!” Lance squawks. “She’s not even sorry!”

“Lemme see!” Pidge yells, scooting her seat over. She squints at the screen, her glasses gleaming. “Uhhh, what?”

Hunk grabs the phone, Lance’s hand still attached to it. “Maybe she wants to apologize in person?”

“She didn’t even _break up_ with me in person! She just said she wants to know if I’m okay! I’m FINE!”

“Clearly,” Pidge deadpans. “So, what are you gonna say?”

“Huh?” Lance raises an eyebrow. “Nothing. I’m just gonna ignore it.”

“Well, you forgot to put your phone on airplane mode —”

“WHAT?!” 

Sure enough, evidenced by the very obvious little Wi-Fi icon in the top bar of his screen, he definitely _did not_ put his phone on airplane mode. 

“To be fair, I was lying. It would still say you read the message when you turn the Wi-Fi back on —”

“What the FUCK, Pidge?!”

“I was gonna tell you! You would just need to delete and re-install Messenger —”

“Okay, guys, cut it out,” Hunk interjects. “Lance, you’re deflecting.”

“I’M NOT DEFLECTING!”

So, yes, storming off _is_ admittedly kind of extra. But Lance really just isn’t sure what to fucking do right now. All he knows is that he’s pissed enough to abandon his coffee on the table, leaving in a huff to shut himself in his room and faceplant on the bed. 

_Knock knock knock._ “ _Lance?_ ”

“Gf mwfy, Pffge.”

“ _Hey?_ ”

“Go away, Pidge!”

“ _I’m sorry I lied to you. I should have just been honest and I want to make it up to you. Can I come in?_ ”

Lance groans into his mattress loud and hard before caving. He lifts his head. “Fine.”

The door opens. He doesn’t look at it.

“See? Made more sense to apologize in person. If I had sent you a facebook message, it wouldn’t have been as meaningful.”

“Fuck off.”

She doesn’t leave though. Instead, Pidge walks over and sits at the corner of his bed, Hunk following her close behind. Lance is aware of this even though he’s not looking at them — he can recognize the sound and feel of their gait with his weird sixth sense for all things Hunk and Pidge that he’s been steadily sharpening since age twelve or whatever. Thing is, when you know people inside out, and they know you just as well, you can’t exactly hide anything from one another. 

They know this kind of situation is _exactly_ the kind of thing that really, really gets to him. That’s why they’re not leaving him alone.

“You don’t need to answer,” Hunk soothes, taking a seat as well. “Fuck social etiquette, it’s cool man. Take your time with it.”

Lance rolls onto his back, sighing. 

“You don’t need to decide now,” Pidge adds. “And we don’t need to keep talking about it, I think we’ve all said everything we need to say.”

Pursing his lips, Lance nods and sits up. He can feel at least some of the tension leaving his chest, thankfully. Another outburst would be even more embarrassing, though it’s not like his roommates aren’t accustomed to his slightly volatile morning self. 

“Okay,” he says, turning to them and nodding resolutely. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not promising anything.”

Pidge puts her hands up, smiling. “All good. We’re here if you need to talk about it.”

. . .

They don’t talk about it again. For the next day, at least. Thing is, Lance really can’t make up his mind about what to do given that this entire thing is completely outside of his realm of expertise. 

See, Lance is great with people… usually. Because for the most part, people _love_ him. Or at least, when he turns the charm on and makes a purposefully good impression, things tend to go well for him. And it’s not like he was born this way — getting here took a lot of work on his part, because second-gen immigrant kids with ADHD are automatically disadvantaged when it comes to “fitting in,” in his experience. 

Being good with people took a lot of learning how to listen to his friends, and pay attention to them, and pick up on how they're feeling. How to _really_ listen to others rather than talking out of his own ass at full speed. Medication helped with that, too. And it may have taken a while, but Lance eventually found himself with good, lasting friendships with people who genuinely loved him for himself. For all the effort it took, Lance is proud of where he is now! He’s a decent person, and those who know him seem to think so too. 

Sure, he may make the occasional enemy at the grocery store or on the bus in his day to day life, but they don’t really _count_ because they don’t know him, and he doesn’t really know them. You can’t please absolutely everyone all the time, honestly. 

The thing is that Jenny is an entirely different can of worms. Though things had started out mind-blowingly incredible, their relationship had slowly but surely brought out the absolute worst in Lance. All the things he’d worked so hard for — everything that made him a good friend — got sort of thrown out the window when he was with her. And it was entirely his own fault. 

It’s no wonder everything ended so poorly. That’s what happens when you put someone on a pedestal and try to change yourself to please them. Lance made the mistake of thinking that if he gave so much of himself to be with her, that she would do the same for him. 

And he was… so wrong. The wrongest he’d ever been in his life. 

So really, the idea of giving Jenny even an ounce of his time and energy now seems like the least appealing thing ever. But the shitty thing about receiving unsolicited facebook messages from your ex is that no matter how much you don’t want to pay them any mind, the mere fact that they messaged you is enough to send you spiraling. Suddenly, Lance can’t exactly help but get fixated on the fact that she reached out to him, he literally saw the message, and she can see that he saw it… if that makes any sense. What the fuck is he even supposed to do now?

Also, he _should_ be basking in the whole Keith afterglow thing right now. And Jenny is literally taking this away from him, too. 

“Everything alright, Lance?” Coran calls over from the far end of the gym. “You seem to be somewhat lost in thought.”

Lance opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. Thing is, he can’t lie to _Coran_ , of all people. The guy’s literally the most bright, pure soul out there. 

He frowns, aggressively brushing a particularly chalky hold. “Ex drama,” he mumbles, clearly enough, though, for Coran to hear. 

“Oh? Would you like to talk about it?” 

“I dunno,” he sighs, dropping his hand from the hold. He looks over to where Coran is standing, brush in hand. “You ever have an ex message you out of nowhere?”

“Hmmm,” Coran ponders, twirling his moustache absentmindedly. “I can’t say I have, honestly. Was there something this ‘ex’ of yours wanted to say?”

“Not really… I don’t know,” Lance sighs. Figuring this might be as good a time to take a break as any, he plops himself down on the mat and scoots over to hang his feet off the edge. “She said she wanted to know if I was okay, and asked to get a beer.”

“Seems innocent enough.” Coran walks over to his side and takes a seat next to him. “What do you think?”

Lance leans back, resting on his elbows. “Things ended… terribly. Like, colossally bad, you know?”

Coran’s moustache lowers a couple centimetres, his eyebrows rising. Lance can’t really see what his mouth is doing but he’s assuming it’s a cue to continue. 

“I also _just_ started seeing someone, but she sent me this message out of nowhere and now that’s all I can think about and… I dunno, I feel kinda shitty.”

“Ahh, you resent that she’s distracting you from enjoying your time with Keith, hmm?”

“Yeah, I —” Lance cuts himself off, eyes bulging wide. “WHAT?! How do you know about Keith?!”

Coran seems to be enjoying this _way_ too much — so much so, that Lance sort of just sits there dumbly as his sort of-uncle figure giggles and wipes away a couple tears. 

“Keith cleans the gym as well, Lance. He’s told me some… things.”

Lance gapes. “Wha — what’s he told you?!”

“That you two had a very nice time here and got dinner afterward. And… something about a haircut?” Coran chuckles to himself. “I must say, you did quite a good job. Keith thought so as well.”

Okay, so blushing furiously isn’t exactly what Lance is _intending_ to do right now, but he’s a massive sucker for praise and hearing it second hand, like, knowing Keith talks about him when he’s not around is… it’s doing some _things_ to his head. 

“Um… ahh, what else has he told you?”

Coran raises an eyebrow. Lance is really hoping that wasn't an entirely shameless attempt at hearing a few more kind words about himself from the person he’s got growing _feelings_ for.

Oh my _god_ , he is so fucked.

Coran looks up, squinting in thought. “Ah, yes! He told me you’ve been trilingual since childhood! Quite impressive, my boy.”

… Alright. So, not exactly what he was gunning to hear. Still, Coran’s a super sweet dude. He can’t bring himself to feel disappointed. 

“Yeah, uh, didn’t really have a choice, though,” Lance replies, running a hand through his hair. “I was a kid, and I needed to learn, so…” He squirms a little, still kind of hung up on the part where _Coran_ knew about Keith. “Anyway, I don’t know what to do. About the ex thing.”

Coran hums, flattening his moustache deep in thought. He looks over at Lance, and smiles. “I think you already know what you need to do.”

“Uh, I do?”

“Of course! The answer is already inside you, you just need to trust yourself.”

“... It is?”

Okay so, you know how when you can’t make a decision and people say this kind of thing? Well, they clearly haven’t met Lance. Because his is a special breed of indecision — it’s one so ultimately confounding that he usually opts to just not make any decisions at all, or at least, avoid most of them. 

See, when Hunk and Pidge gave him the out and told him he didn’t have to decide what to do right away, he sort of settled on doing nothing and existing in limbo. Even though he was still tad bothered. Purgatory isn’t a terrible place to be — quite the opposite, actually, it’s pretty chill. For the most part.

“What is your heart telling you to do, Lance?”

“Uhhhh,” Lance shrugs, his shoulders sort fixed as they hover by his ears. “I don’t know, that’s why I asked for help.”

“Take your time,” Coran nods, a completely indecipherable knowing look on his face. He taps Lance on the knee and gets up. “After all, we have things to do! The gym won’t be cleaning itself! Hah, self-cleaning gyms…”

Coran keeps chuckling as he picks up his brush, walking over to his end of the room to continue their chores. 

Lance gets up too, albeit a little stilted. Whatever just happened there definitely did _not_ help things, but maybe it’ll give him the confidence to do _something_ when and if his brain settles on a course of action. It definitely won’t, though, because that isn’t how his brain does things. So instead, he decides this is probably the kind of problem for his surrogate frontal lobe:

Veronica.

. . .

“Veeeeeee,” Lance whines, hugging her hello at Gare Centrale. Her VIA Rail train to Toronto is leaving in, like, an hour and he needs to milk whatever sisterly advice he can get stat, before she disappears forever.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic. They talk often, even though they’re not in the same city. But it’s not the _same_.

His sister sighs, pulling back. “What do you want?”

He hands her a coffee and leads them over to a nearby bench, taking her suitcase for her. “I need advice.”

“Boy stuff?”

“No, Jenny stuff.”

Veronica startles, eyes gaping wide at him. “Oh, hell no.”

“Yep,” Lance sighs, deflating. “She sent me a message out of nowhere in February, and again yesterday morning.”

“Burn it,” Veronica says matter-of-factly, punctuated with a long sip of coffee. “Seriously, she’s dead to me.”

“Okay, solidarity appreciated,” Lance notes, taking a sip as well. “I dunno, though, Hunk and Pidge seemed to think I’m gonna have relationship issues until I… forgive her? Or get over it, I dunno.”

“You’re not over it?” Veronica asks, eyebrow quirked. 

“I am,” Lance says, face twisting up in thought. “It’s in the past, whatever. But I’m still kind of… apprehensive about dating someone, you know? I don’t really want to go through that again. And, like, her message kind of got me thinking about that.”

Veronica nods, sitting back to get more comfortable. “Well, I don’t think you need to worry about _that_ happening again. Your breakup was made worse because it was compounded with everything else going on, right?”

“Yeah,” Lance furrows his brow. “True.”

“And things are different now, right? You’ve got your friends, you know how to deal with your health, and you’re more mature. You’re also _seeing_ people who are more mature. Keith’s not Jenny from four years ago.”

Lance sighs. That’s a really fair point honestly, and it does put things into perspective. Probably not enough to entirely quell his anxieties, but it’s a good sound bite to play in his head when he’s feeling especially defeated. Still, though, doesn’t help with everything.

“Should I answer her, though?”

“What did she say, exactly?”

Lance fumbles for his phone, opens it and shows the messages to her. She knits her brows together, appraising them, lips pursed. “Huh.”

“So?”

His sister glances at him and sighs, sitting back on the bench once again. “Okay, honestly? You don’t owe her anything.” She meets his gaze, her expression severe. “You don’t owe _anyone_ an ounce of your time, Lance. You have your own life, and your own shit, and just because someone sends you a message doesn’t mean you need to answer them.”

Lance nods. He feels like there’s a ‘but,’ though.

“But —”

“Knew it,” Lance smirks. 

Veronica rolls her eyes. “I will stop, you know. I’m a fucking psychotherapist, Lance, people pay me for this shit. I should be charging you.”

Lance gasps. “You wouldn’t _dare_ —”

“Or I could just stop giving you advice.”

“Nooooo —” Lance whines, gripping onto her sleeve.

She snorts, rolling her eyes again. This time, though, it’s more fond than sarcastic. He’s glad she somehow thinks he’s still kinda cute, after all this time.

“Okay, okay — _let go of my fucking sleeve_ —” Veronica mutters, yanking her arm away. “Look, sometimes talking it out is a good thing. I don’t think I would have answered a message from Acxa if she’d sent one, but after Saturday…” she trails off, biting her lip. “Honestly, I’m happy we talked it out. It was… really good, I think.”

“Oh _reeeally_?” Lance drawls, taking a sip of coffee.

“I know you like her about as much as I like Jenny, but seriously. It really… turned things around, I guess.”

Lance makes a vague, muffled noise of doubt. It comes out weak, though. He kind of knows he’s being a petty. Thing is, if Veronica can so readily accept an apology and offer of peace from Acxa, who was _super not great_ , then is he just supposed to do the same?

“I’m not saying you need to do the same thing — ” Veronica starts. 

Great. Someone else can read his mind, too. Lance has _got_ to find a way to be less fucking transparent.

“ — But maybe don’t rule it out?”

“So you think I should talk to her?”

“Not necessarily. That’s entirely up to you.” 

Lance opens his mouth to complain because _that’s literally not helpful advice! At all!_ but they’re extremely rudely interrupted by an announcement overhead, signaling that Veronica’s train is boarding. He inhales sharply, a knot twisting in his stomach. The same knot that’s been there the past couple days. Fuck, he hoped it’d be gone by now.

Veronica sighs, reaching over to smooth his hair a little and thumb the side of his cheek. Lance pouts like a child, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I gotta go, _hermanito_. You’ll be fine, okay?”

“Don’t go, I’m not done acting like a teenager.”

She laughs, taking her hand away to muffle. He can’t help but grin at the sight. Lance loves making people laugh… but making Veronica laugh? It’s something else. It’s harder than with most people, but so much more rewarding.

Her hand falls to her lap. She shakes her head. “Don’t ever stop, Lancito. I don’t want you to grow up. I don’t know what I’d do if you stopped needing me, okay?”

Lance blinks. “Okay, shut the fuck up. I’m trying to, like, not cry this time —”

She hugs him and he feels his eyes swell, closing them tight as he squeezes her in his arms. They’ve been here before — countless times, at this point. Lance always sees her off before she leaves. 

It’s become easier. The first time Veronica left on a train to Toronto, Lance had a breakdown in the middle of this very station because his sister was gonna get to ride a _train_ and he was so jealous he wanted to explode. He was nine, sure, and neck-deep in his train hyperfixation but it was a pretty traumatic experience nonetheless. 

It wasn’t the worst part, though. She was only going for a weekend to visit her pen pal, but Lance had never found himself without her in his life. He and Rachel were on good terms, but never really on the same wavelength, despite being closer in age. Luis, too — he was always on the _chill_ and _mildly pretentious_ side of things, and got along better with Rachel out of all of them. Lance fucking loved the shit out of Marco, but he very much treated him like a “little bro” rather than a peer.

V was different. They may have a 5-year age gap, but she _always_ took him seriously, no matter what. Sure, she teased the shit out of him, but she was always ready when it counted. When he had outbursts, she’d talk to him instead of dismissing him. When he felt stupid, she reminded him of everything he was good at until he felt better. And later, when he was older and stuck in a hole of terrible physical pain coupled with intense self-loathing, she’s the one that called Hunk. 

Lance hadn’t talked to him in months, and didn’t think his former best friend (at the time) would want anything to do with him. But Veronica knew better. Because she always saw the best in him — even at his worst — and she knew Hunk would too.

She made the call, but it was up to Lance to fix things. And she let him do it himself, because she insisted he could do it on his own. So really, it’s not like she’s been making decisions for him this whole time. She just reminds him that he’s capable. 

“’M gonna miss you,” he mutters, muffled into her hair.

“I’ll be back soon, I always am,” she says, pulling away. It reassures him somewhat that he isn’t the only one shedding a tear.

“Hey,” he starts, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re _crying —_ ”

“Lance —”

“You’re a _baby_ —”

“Okay, moment over.” She gets up, pulling out the handle of her rolling suitcase. “Try not to die without me here.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Lance smiles, quickly hugging her again. She smirks at him over her shoulder when she makes her way over to the stairs, slowly disappearing down to the platform. Finding himself alone, Lance trills his lips and starts toward the metro, tossing his coffee cup in a bin. It’s always weird, the first few minutes after V leaves. He’s still not really used to not having her around. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket. _Thank god_ for that distraction, honestly. He was about to start fully wallowing.

 **Keith**  
11:16 AM  
>come over tonight? Inviting hunk and pidge too for takeout and drinks

The corner of Lance’s mouth tugs upward. Another welcome distraction from all the shit in his head. 

>were getting chinese food  
>🍜 🍲 🍛 🥟 🍤 🥮 🥠

Lance snorts. Over the course of the past very short while they’ve been texting, Keith rarely used a single emoji. He started, though, after they kissed — and his use has been steadily increasing since. Lance isn’t really sure what this means, other than the fact that he’s dating an adorable weirdo who’s apparently _just_ getting acquainted with 21st-century communication methods, thanks to Lance of all people.

  
>someone found the food emojis  
>yeah i’m down. Got work but ill come after at like 8  


Squinting, he hovers his finger over the emoji keyboard, considering. _Fuck it_.

  
>❤️  


Lance shoves his phone in his pocket, sweating. He hasn’t sent a heart emoji to someone he was, like… doing stuff with in definitely four years, maybe longer. It’s not a big deal at all — they literally peed together in the shower — but it drags Lance’s anxieties back to where they were at the start of the day: namely, what to do about the Jenny thing.

He groans lightly, though it’s kind of amplified by the acoustics of the tunnel he’s walking through on the way to the escalators. Honestly, the main thing that’s nagging him is the fact that he’s been so bent out of shape about this when Keith should be the one occupying his headspace. He might need to _talk to_ Keith about it, just to get it off his mind… which is not exactly appealing. 

Thing is, if he doesn’t, he’s gonna get fixated on it and he won’t have a good time. 

He’s got all day, though. He’ll wait it out, see what happens, and maybe he won't feel the same way come dinnertime. But knowing his own brain and how it tends to work, Lance figures this outcome is _highly_ unlikely.

A vibration shakes his pocket again. Lance whips out his phone, and —

 **Keith**  
11:18 AM  
>💙

Oh. 

Okay, yeah he’s definitely gonna need to talk about it. Keith just used a heart emoji in Lance’s fucking favourite colour like they’ve been married thirty years, or something. 

_Buzz_

>sleep over after

Well, fuck. He literally might die today. He might keel over _right_ after Veronica told him not to, like — Keith’s gonna be the fucking death of him, it’s wild. He is _so_ fucked.

  
> 🥴 💦 💦 👌🏽  


He probably looks _exactly_ like that fucking stupid emoji right now. Lance hopes he won’t get so distracted he’ll trip off the escalator.

> 🖕

He sputters out a laugh, leaning forward a little and accidentally headbutting a stern-looking business woman going past him. Lance mumbles a half-hearted _s’cuse_ , but she gives him stank-face anyway. He scowls right back, because _fuck people_. 

Whatever. He’s gotta clear his head. He’s got work to do.

. . .

So, Lance’s head was decidedly _not clear_ for the majority of his shift. Instead, his mind chose to cycle through worrying about the Jenny thing, worrying about telling Keith about the Jenny thing, getting really mad about that bitchy stuck up business woman on the escalator, who probably has some evil corporate job and treats her employees like soulless drones. At least the kids were cute today. That sorta helped. 

At one point, one of his favourite kids — Kevin, this sweet 8-year old that comes to the library for english tutoring and plays minecraft on the computers after — asked him what was wrong. 

“You know. Love problems,” Lance sighed at him, writing his name down on the computer sign-up sheet. 

“Girl problems?”

“Girl and boy problems,” Lance replied, a little cautiously. Being out to kids at work can be weird — you never know what they’re gonna say.

Thankfully, though, Kevin nodded his head in sympathy. “I’m glad I don’t love boys or girls,” he said. “Love seems stressful.”

Learning that Kevin’s an aro icon definitely made things better. Lance high-fived him and told him about his friend Pidge, who doesn’t love boys or girls either. He may be dealing with a slew of anxieties today, but at least the new generation is queer and thriving. 

He replays this exchange in his head a bunch of times on his way to Keith’s apartment. Honestly, it’s definitely making him feel a lot better, and he can’t wait to tell Pidge. 

Still, though, he’s vibrating with anticipation about talking to Keith. It’s definitely not as big a deal as he’s making it out to be, at this point. But he needs to deal with it as soon as possible.

“Hey,” Keith says, all relaxed, when he answers the door holding a takeout container. 

“I need to talk about something that’s stressing me out,” Lance spews, unable to hold it in any longer. 

“... Okay?” 

He doesn’t have much time to register what Keith’s face is doing before he grabs him by the forearm and drags them both into the kitchen. His heart is beating in his chest, and Lance just needs to get this shit over with before it consumes him. Once there, Keith leans himself back on the counter and takes another bite of his food, head tilting quizzically.

“I got an unsolicited message from my ex girlfriend.” 

Keith stops chewing… and resumes doing so a moment later. “Uh-huh?”

“She... ugh.” He runs a hand through his hair. So, giving a detailed summary of everything is definitely not on the table right now. That would be _way to much_. “We had a bad breakup like, four years ago. She did it over the phone, it was rude as fuck. And now she’s messaging me outta nowhere to ask if I’m okay?”

“Huh,” Keith grunts, still chewing. He takes another bite of noodles. “Sounds rude as fuck.”

“Yes! Yes, thank you!” Lance waves his arms a little, almost knocking over Keith’s olive oil. Oops.

“That it?”

“I dunno… I just like, I have nothing to say to her. But I feel like I should say something, you know?”

Keith purses his lips, eyes narrowing in thought. He takes another bite of his noodles, humming. “Do you want to message her right now?”

“No?”

“Then don’t. If you end up having something to say at some point, do it then.” Keith shrugs. “What can you say if you have nothing to say, you know?”

Lance’s eye twitches. It sounds… so fucking dumb. But it makes total sense.

“Keith, you’re a genius.”

“I am?”

“Holy shit,” Lance gapes, rushing forward to crush Keith in a bear hug because literally _no one_ has out-logic’ed his anxiety like that before. 

“Wow,” a voice carries over from the living room. _Right_ , Keith’s apartment is an open-concept deal, and Pidge and Hunk _and_ Kosmo are _definitely right there_ , watching them intently over the back of the couch.

Pidge snorts. “Keith speaks Lance.”

Hunk lets out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Okay, sure, very funny.” Lance plants a quick peck on Keith’s cheek before heading over to the living room. “I’m over it, it’s all good, and I want food now.”

It takes Keith a moment to catch up — all befuddled, eyes wide as if no one’s ever done that to him before. Honestly, getting Keith all flustered is Lance’s new favourite sport. Climbing can take a backseat. 

. . .

“So _then_ , she leaves me handcuffed to a tree and steals Blue!”

Keith scowls from where he’s seated next to him on the floor. “What the fuck?”

Honestly, the time a girl seduced him in the park and ran off with his bike is one of Lance’s classics. He’s surprised he hasn’t told Keith about it yet, in this kind of context — where they’re all sitting around a table (a coffee table, this time), empty food vessels strewn about and beers in hand. Sure, the hamster lady one’s better, and this one only happened last fall, so it’s not like it’s long enough ago for it to withstand the test of time. But it’s still entertaining.

“We went to rescue him when we noticed he never came home,” Hunk adds, chuckling. 

“What did your bike look like?” Keith asks.

Lance sighs, wistfully. “She was… gorgeous. Dropped handlebars, royal blue frame, and I let Nads and Syl go ham and draw all over it in metallic sharpie.”

Keith makes… an unexpected face. He whips out his phone and opens what looks like his texts with Acxa, and scrolls up a little before pulling up —

A picture of Blue’s frame. Stripped, missing every other part, but recognizable nonetheless.

Lance’s jaw hits the floor. 

“Uhhh, you guys gonna fill us in?” Pidge asks, sipping her beer.

“We buy bikes and parts off people to refurbish them,” Keith elaborates. “Someone brought Blue’s frame in a little while ago.”

“Do you still have her?!” Lance gasps.

“Yeah. It was obviously personalized by hand, and the dude selling it seemed kinda sketchy, so I told my boss to keep it around in case someone came looking for —”

Keith’s little explanation gets cut off real quick, because Lance literally _cannot_ keep himself together right now. He grabs Keith, squeezing the shit out of him in a slightly awkward seated side-hug, burying his own face into the crook of his neck. 

“Holy shit, Keith, you’re the best —”

He pulls back, their faces suddenly only inches apart. Keith looks _super_ flustered, but it’s only making Lance swoon even harder. Seriously, though — how great is Keith? Lance is so fucking lucky, holy _shit_ —

“Okay, that’s our cue to leave,” Pidge announces, downing the last of her beer. “I work tomorrow, anyway.”

“Same!” Hunk adds, getting up. “Thanks so much for hosting, man.”

It sort of takes a ton of effort to pull his gaze away from Keith right at that moment, but Lance isn’t a rude dude. He hugs them goodbye, Pidge mumbles something vague about sleeping in his bed tonight, and it’s all well and good. But his head is kind of _elsewhere_ — because finally, after a couple days of worry and guilt, all of it is suddenly… gone. 

And really, it’s because of Keith. Not exactly because of what he said to calm him down, or even about the bike, or anything specific really. It’s because Lance had been so apprehensive about getting to this kind of place with someone for a long, long time. But now that he’s here — and that Keith is honestly… really fucking special — he can’t help but be happy, you know?

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have capital “I” Issues. But it does make things seem easier. It makes him feel like maybe he actually _can_ do this. And that maybe the past doesn’t need to have as much weight as he once thought. 

Keith kind of just stands there once he shuts the door, glancing over at Lance and smiling meekly. 

“Do you, uh…” Keith runs a hand through his bangs, glancing around the room. “I don’t wanna clean, but Kosmo’s gonna eat all the takeout boxes if we don’t, so…”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, smiling. “I just… I gotta go to the bathroom first but I’ll meet you in a sec.”

It’s not a lie carefully crafted to avoid cleaning — Lance genuinely needs to take a leak. But there’s also something else he needs to do, and he’d prefer to do it alone with a clear head. 

He pisses sitting down, because he’s dropped too many phones in toilet bowls while standing to make that kind of mistake again. Opening up his messaging app, Lance taps Jenny’s thread and takes a look at her last message again, biting his lip. 

MONDAY at 10:37 PM  
>hey i know you probably hate me but i really just want to know if youre ok. Do you want to get a beer or something? 

Elbows leaned on his knees, he types out a quick reply — trying not to overanalyze it and get stuck in a thought loop once more.

  
>I’m doing really good. Hope things are good with you. I’ll pass on the beer, sorry. Don’t have much time.  


He scrunches up his face. Really, he’s not sorry — he also has loads of spare time, too. It’s just that he doesn’t want to use his spoons for a beer with his ex.

  
>I’m doing really good. Not down for a beer, but I hope things are good with you, too.  


It’s hard to describe exactly how much lighter he feels when he steps back into the living area. He can’t really promise that his baggage won’t come back to haunt him at some point, but in this moment it all feels a lot easier.

Keith’s rinsing the beer bottles out in his sink when Lance walks over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head in the crook of his neck. 

“Hey,” Keith chuckles, turning off the faucet and leaning his hands on the counter. He turns his face, nosing at Lance’s hair for a sec before their lips meet, all slow and languid. 

“I’m kinda tired,” Lance confesses when they pull their lips apart, foreheads resting together. “Long day, y’know?”

“You wanna go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, smiling lazily and pulling away to rest his butt against the counter next to Keith. “I can get kinda tired and spacey when my meds wear off, but I’m down to hang out tomorrow? I don’t work, so...”

Keith nods. “I don’t work Thursdays, either.” 

“Perfect,” Lance grins, pushing off the counter and back into Keith’s space. “Can’t wait.”

This time, when they get into bed, Kosmo joins them. Lance keeps his boxers on because he feels like it’d be rude to be naked in front of a third party, and Keith calls him a dork but keeps his on as well. He insists that Lance borrow some clean ones, though. Honestly, dating a dude is kinda great when it comes to sharing clothes. He could _definitely_ get used to this.

When he’s falling asleep after a couple episodes of The Office and copious dog cuddles, he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Keith snoozing next to him, sandwiched between Lance and his dog. It’s a little cramped — Lance is pretty sure this is a double bed, and Kosmo is kind of the size of a person — but it’s pretty fucking sweet all the same. 

He doesn’t even think about Jenny. Okay, he doesn’t think about Jenny until right that moment where he realizes he’s not thinking about her. But it still counts. She may have caught him off guard, but he dealt with it and made it through. And now he gets to bask in this moment, and give it the appreciation it deserves. Because honestly, he wasn’t lying earlier.

Things _are_ really fucking good. Lance just hopes it’s all smooth sailing from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint: It's not. It never is, is it? Life's whack.
> 
> So yes, Nyma and Rolo are bike thiefs in this fic. Never gonna be mentioned by name, but I wanted them to have a brief cameo nonetheless. 
> 
> Also, Lance frequently uses train metaphors because of his childhood train hyperfixation. Old habits die hard, my friends. If you want a taste of how absolutely fucking great trains are, check out [Excited Train Guy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4NGxynJg04) and try to imagine Lance as a kid with that same Big Train Nerd Energy (BTNE). 
> 
> Also I have never owned a dog, but writing this chapter got me thinking about whether sleeping naked with a dog is a Thing. This [reddit thread](https://www.reddit.com/r/dogs/comments/1nnxcl/is_it_weird_to_sleep_naked_with_my_dog/) helped clear things up.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I've got some things coming up for this story that I'm really excited for (namely, camping. It's not a spoiler, it's mentioned earlier, but I'm just really excited about it) so thank you all for sticking around! Hope you're having a wonderful weekend.


	9. Spending the Day in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are… is my hair okay?” Keith says after a moment, visibly confused as if they weren’t just all up in each other’s faces doing sex stuff only minutes earlier. Jeez, can’t a guy just ogle the dude he’s banging without an interrogation?
> 
> Lance chuckles, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Nah, it looks terrible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW this one took a while to pump out! It's been a busy couple weeks, but we're back and kicking. From here on out, chapters might take a little bit longer to come out, since I'm starting school in a week and will have less free time on my hands. But I'm still excited to keep writing this thang, don't you worry. I was also kind of antsy to get this out because it's been a while, hence the late-night upload (or not, if you're not in EST)
> 
> Also, I realize I broke my promise that this chapter would have climbing in it. I kind of went off the rails and didn't outline this because I wanted to see where it would go, so apologies for the lack of sports! We're gonna get more of that soon, what with all the camping and nature stuff
> 
> CW: This chapter is super NSFW. There's smut, sandwiched between dashes, and a ton of discussion about sex toys. Honestly this might be the most NSFW thing I've ever written. My threshold for "non-explicit smut" is kind of getting pushed off a cliff, slowly but surely. In any case, the dashes are there if you want to avoid. 
> 
> Also, a character is in pain this chapter, unrelated to the sex. This might sound weird but whatever. We're dealing with wacky sex antics and chronic pain simultaneously here, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> ALSO, there's a little bit where Lance speaks very queb french. I included a translation of what he says in the end notes, since google translate WILL NOT work for quebec slang. God speed @ all the french speakers reading this, I suggest watching some youtube clips of "occupation double" (essentially, a queb version of big brother slash the bachelor) if you want to know what it might sound like. If you are from quebec, though, or are familiar with our version of french, pls let me know 'cause I haven't found anyone local in this fandom yet RIP

-

So, Lance has a problem. A _big_ problem. Thing is, he always needs to pee super bad when he wakes up because of all the bladder shit. Especially after a night where he had a couple beers. 

Getting up to go pee and take his meds and basically do everything he needs to do to be a person in the morning is proving kind of difficult at the moment, though. Mainly, because he’s trapped between Keith’s thighs. 

Keith groans something fierce, completely shameless and lewd, and it only stokes Lance’s fire. The pressure from the bed pressing down on his erection _and_ full bladder is admittedly kind of awesome, yet also a tad concerning. Doesn’t really matter, though, because Keith’s legs have him in a headlock and his own mouth is definitely full of dick at the moment, so peeing is going to need to happen later. Like, if it becomes an emergency.

Lance hasn’t done this in a while. Sucked dick, that is. And he’s honestly pretty stoked to discover that his skills seem to have stayed pretty sharp in the interim. 

It’s not like he’s doing most of the work, though. Keith’s bucking into him like a bronco trying to yeet its rider while Lance just holds onto his hips for dear life as his own eyes fill with tears. He’s not even sure how they got here. They kind of just started making out the minute they woke up, and things kind of spiralled. Keith kicked Kosmo out at some point and then the rest became a blur of pheromones. 

This is probably one of the most pornorgraphic wake-ups of his entire life, but he’s not complaining at all. 

“Nnnghh, holy shii —”

It’s kinda funny cause that right there was the first word of English uttered by either of them since, like, last _night_. Dang, they were definitely thirsty.

“M’ clo — m’ close,”

Lance takes this golden opportunity to liberate his right hand and brush it down Keith’s ass, using his thumb to press _just_ above his hole. The ensuing cry that Keith unleashes indicates that he _definitely_ found the right spot for that. Nice. 

He sort of tries to push Lance off, probably because he’s about to come, but Lance counters by holding his ground and riding it out. He always finishes what he started, thank you very much. 

Like, in terms of sex. Not in terms of personal projects, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Keith comes _loud_. It’s honestly kind of impressive. Lance can feel his legs spasming where they’re locked around head, and he’s pretty sure he’s never been with someone with a lower body this powerful before. His skull is kind of aching. 

-  
When he’s finally free of Keith’s thunder thigh prison, they sort of just pant and gape at one another cause, like, that was _pretty fucking good_. Keith looks absolutely debauched, all flushed and sweaty, hair in disarray. And Lance _really_ wants to stay here and enjoy it, but his bladder is going from “maximum capacity” to “giving up” and he’s gotta take care of that, stat. 

“Keith — you’re, you’re so fucking hot but I need to pee so badly —”

“Go.”

“Mhm.”

The minute he opens the door, though, Kosmo bolts by him like a rocket and zooms right into the bed, whining and licking Keith’s face. Keith groans, this time less sex-drunk and more mildly pissed off, and Lance kind of wants to go help him? But he also highkey needs to urinate, so Keith’s just gonna need to help himself. 

He somehow manages to will his erection away, just enough for peeing to not feel completely weird. Thank _god_ , that would have made this deluge way more unpleasant than it needed to be. 

When he gets back to the bedroom, Kosmo’s just sitting on the bed facing him, wagging his tail and panting like Lance is the goddamn messiah. Meanwhile, Keith is lying back, arm over his face, still apparently in the process of catching his breath. As cute as all of it is, Lance would really like to have his own orgasm to top this entire mess off. And he doesn’t feel like doing it in front of a dog. 

“Uhh, Keith? Do you wanna keep going? Cause I’m down, but your dog —”

“Mmmfhhh,” Keith replies incoherently. “M’ sorry, he thought I was sad.”

Uh. 

_What_?

“Huh?” Lance gets into the bed and offers Kosmo a couple pats. He’s aware that both he and Keith are naked in front of him, but it feels a lot less weird now that it’s actually happening. Maybe it’s because Kosmo’s also naked. 

Keith drops the hand from his face, meeting Lance’s gaze. “He’s an… emotional support animal. Like, it’s his job to take care of me when I’m not feeling well.”

Oh wow. Well isn’t that the fucking cutest thing Lance has heard in years. 

“He has trouble… distinguishing, though. Like, between when I’m sad and when I’m…” Keith trails off, cringing. 

Lance raises an eyebrow, still scratching behind Kosmo’s ears. “Getting off?”

“Yeah.”

Lance snorts. For a brief second, he thinks it’s just gonna stop there. But before he knows it, he’s cackling uncontrollably, gripping his own abdomen. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Keith mutters. He sounds like he’s smiling, though. It only makes Lance laugh harder. 

“Oh my GOD —” 

“Nnnnggghhh,” Keith groans again, burying his face in his hands. Kosmo seems to take this as a cue to continue doing his job, curling up right beside his owner and resting his face on his belly. Lance’s heart is just about melting at this entire spectacle, he’s never seen anything like it. 

He chuckles a few more times, waiting for his laughter to die out. “It’s cool, we can, like, chill. Guess the mood was sorta ruined.”

Keith drags his fingers down his face, just covering his mouth. He knits his brows together, shaking his head. “I mean, like… sure. Unless —”

“Unless?” Lance pipes up. Honestly, he was bluffing before. He _definitely_ doesn’t want to stop, he was just sorta giving them an out in case Keith didn’t wanna deal with kicking Kosmo out _again_. 

Keith props himself up on his elbows, eyeing Lance with interest. “Unless… you don’t wanna stop?”

He doesn’t really have any words at this point. Lance opts to just vigorously nod his head instead, because this may be one of those textbook worse case scenarios when it comes to having sex around pets, but Lance isn’t a quitter. And neither is Keith, it seems. 

Besides, it’s not like they have anywhere to be, right? 

“Kosmo, out,” Keith blurts, lightly smacking him on his rump and shooting out of bed at the speed of light. He’s moving so quickly that Lance can just _barely_ make out the fact that he seems to be blushing furiously. Honestly, if everything they’ve done together up until this point wasn’t validation enough, that right there takes the cake. 

Keith shuts the door behind him, leaning against it for a second. He stares Lance down with vaguely glassy eyes, looking equal parts clueless and hungry. Lance swallows, his mouth getting drier and drier by the second. 

“Your turn,” Keith simpers. Something about the smirk he’s wearing looks almost… _competitive_. Lance has… absolutely no idea what to do with that. It’s a little terrifying. 

-  
Thing is, his dick already decided it was on board. It hardened to full mast at some point between the kicking the dog out thing and the hungry glare thing, though he’s got no idea when. But honestly, it _really, really_ doesn’t matter because Keith’s moving forward, closer and closer and getting down on his knees in front of where Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed, running his hands up his thighs and not even breaking eye contact for a _second_. Jeeeesus what is he even _doing_?

Gearing up for a blowjob, apparently. Duh. But still — something about all of this has Lance’s thoughts swimming. 

Keith doesn’t really waste any time starting. He sort of just dives in like the peeing/dog interlude never happened. Keith’s got Lance’s head thrown back in no time, abdomen clenching and hips jutting a little before he places a palm to his chest and pushes him down. Lance nearly regrets it for a second, because he kind of wanted that sweet overhead view, but he’s not even sure his body would be able to take it. 

See, Keith is _really_ good at head. Like, obviously passionate about doing a great job. Lance always found it dumb when people are like “nhhhh guys give better head” or whatever, because honestly, that’s bullshit. In his own experience, passion equates to good head. Point final. C’est tout. 

“Ngghh, _crisss_ ,” Lance pants. 

Keith pops off abruptly, halting the strokes of his hand. Lance peeps at him with one eye, only to see him looking incredibly confused.  
-

“Did you just… did you just curse in _queb_?”

Oh shit. Lance’s brain did that thing where it switches languages mid-fuck. It’s weird, sometimes they bleed into one another and he has no fucking clue what’s coming out of his mouth. Like, one would _assume_ that maybe his latent Spanish would be the one jumping out at this point. But Lance didn’t learn how to swear in Spanish — at least not until he was older. He first learned to curse in queb, with his classmates in primary school. 

“... Ey, tu capotes-tu?”

Keith lets go of his dick, his expression horrified. “What the fuck is happening?”

“Ayoye, c’est cool.” Lance grins. “J’men calisse.”

So like, ruining moods is kind of Lance’s thing. He doesn’t necessarily do it on purpose, but if something vaguely funny happens while someone is touching his dick, you can bet your _cu_ (that’s queb for ass) that he’s gonna roll with it until something stops him. 

Also, Keith clearly thought he had the upper hand for a sec. He probably thought he had him like putty in his rough, strong and sinewy, calloused hands. And he kinda _did_ for a hot sec, but Lance is insufferable and he’s not gonna submit without being annoying first. 

“Wha…” Keith’s face twists into an asymmetrical scowl. “What are you doing?!”

“J’comprends pas.”

“ _Lance_ —”

“Ey, c’po d’ma faute, c’est _toi_ qui m’a fourré si bien que j’ai devenu franco.”

Keith just gapes at him. It only makes Lance grin even wider. He knows that Keith has at least some understanding of what he’s saying. He’s heard him speak very awkward french to people out and about. Thing is, he definitely hasn’t head Lance go full queb before. He probably can’t retort. Point for Lance. 

Honestly, it is quite possible that Lance has some sort of problem. He really shouldn’t be turning this fuckfest into some sort of weird, one-sided competition for who has the upper hand. Mainly because that doesn’t make any fucking sense whatsoever. But Keith’s face is doing cute shit, and Lance is starting to laugh because this is all _so_ absurd, so really it’s still a good time regardless. 

“I’m fucking with you!” Lance wheezes when Keith crosses his arms and pouts. He sits up, waving a hand and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I dunno why I did that I just thought it’d be funny.”

“You’re fucked,” Keith asserts. Lance can’t help but notice how the corner of his mouth twitches a little, like he’s trying hard to repress a smile. “I can stop. I can leave right now —”

“But you live here!”

Keith shoots up onto his feet, suddenly towering over the bed between Lance’s legs. His looming sort of makes Lance involuntarily sink back into the mattress. His tongue catches in his throat — all brattiness gone in favour of that same feeling he had when Keith was stalking up to him right before they started this. He feels very _exposed_ and _seen_ in a way that sends electric pulses straight to his dick. And it’s all just super indicative of the fact that Keith somehow got the upper hand again. The bastard.

“Shut up and let me blow you.”

The words curl out of his mouth like smoke, slightly lower and a bit gravelier than usual. A pathetic whine somehow escapes Lance’s mouth, hopefully not loud enough to actually be heard because that would be _so fucking embarassing, holy shit._

He swallows, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. 

“Make me.”  
-

That’s apparently all it takes for Keith to surge forward, draping over Lance’s body and crashing their mouths together. He pushes them into the mattress, one leg snugly fitted between Lance’s rubbing _just_ enough to feel really fucking awesome — so much that they’re both hard again in seemingly no time at all. The little queb interlude kind of killed his boner, but apparently having a lap and mouth full of Keith is enough to make quick work of that problem. Or maybe it’s because this is all still really novel, or whatever. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. He’s getting distracted. 

“I thought —” Lance sighs, stretching his head back as Keith nips over his collarbone. “I thought you were gonna blow me —”

“Nnnghh,” Keith groans into his ear. “You talk too much.”

Lance opens his mouth to say somethig — probably something kind of stupid — but he completely misses his chance. Mainly because Keith’s index and middle fingers somehow found their way into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. _Shit_ , that really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

“Suck.”

Keith looks absolutely smug right now, smirking down at him with an insufferable toothy grin. It’s annoying, but also _really doing things to Lance’s brain_ in a way that definitely takes away his ability to keep being an annoying dipshit. So he sucks, and he licks and it’s super weird that this is turning him on so bad but it’s also _definitely_ getting him in the zone, and centering his thoughts on what’s happening in this exact moment. 

It’s apparently doing things to Keith too — evidenced mainly by how he’s making zero moves to continue that blow job, opting instead to lightly trace his fingers all over Lance’s balls, his dick, that spot above his ass and back around again. He just opens his legs further apart in response, eyes probably rolling back a bit in his head but he doesn’t really know. His capacity to know _anything_ is just being replaced by a constant thought stream of _yes, please, fuck_ that escapes his mouth in the form of moans, vibrating around Keith’s fingers as they slide further and further down his throat. 

He lets out a really pissed off whine, peeking at Keith with nearly wet eyes because he’s being a _fucking tease_ and it’s great but it’s also _not enough_ —

“Can I —” Keith starts and stops, as if searching for words is getting a little hard right now. He slowly pulls his fingers out, dragging them lightly over Lance’s bottom lip before continuing. “ — butt stuff?”

Even though ‘Can I butt stuff?’ is probably the dumbest way anyone’s ever propositioned anything to Lance, his first thought is a resounding “YEP, UH-HUH,” because it’s not like he’s got high standards for eloquent sex talk. His brain kind of catches up with him, though, because unfortunately, this isn’t the kind of question he can answer without a bit of thought. 

It’s not like Lance hasn’t done that sort of thing to himself before. Hell, a girl did it to him once and it was pretty fucking great. Thing is, given the fact that his prostate and his bladder are super friendly neighbours, it’s the kind of thing that risks not being so great if things downstairs are a little out of whack. 

He takes a second to assess — it takes some effort to clear his mind of the sex fog, but he _really_ doesn’t want to do anything stupid, especially not with Keith. And since he’s been on a good streak, and it's been several pain-free weeks since his last flare, he figures why the hell not. 

“Fuck yeah,” he sighs, grinning. Keith’s tongue is in his mouth not a second later. 

It takes some clumsy fumbling for Keith to actually get the lube out of his bedside table, mainly because he seems especially reluctant to separate his mouth from Lance for even a second, but they manage. It takes a little bit of time for Lance’s brain to get back into sex mode, but having fingers back in his mouth helps a ton with the focus thing. 

Not many people have done this to him before. It’s happened, but not a lot. And Lance suspects that’s mainly because when he’s with girls, he’s usually the one that does what Keith is doing. And the few times he’s been with guys, he topped because the idea of bottoming for someone he didn’t know at least a little well never really struck a chord. 

It feels nice to be doted on, is what he’s trying to get at. It feels like he’s being cared for in everything Keith’s doing — from the way he asks silent questions with just his eyes and his fingers, waiting for Lance to respond before going further, to how he’s clearly enjoying all of this _just_ as much as Lance is. 

They kiss the second Keith’s fingers breach, and Lance feels just so full of absolutely everything that’s happening. It’s not just pleasure, but feeling and connection and so many things that haven’t hit him all at once in an insanely long time. But it feels so damn good that Lance’s eyes are tearing up in no time, his throat probably making a bunch of noises that he can’t fully register. Keith sort of just watches, and kisses, and watches like he’s completely mesmerized. Like Lance is beautiful, or something. Which is completely bonkers.

When he comes (after only a couple helpful strokes to his dick), Keith licks into his mouth and swallows every sound escaping from his throat. All Lance’s feeble efforts at keeping only slightly quiet don’t seem to make any difference, given how Keith’s mouth isn’t really muffling any of it. 

They ride the comedown with their foreheads together, breathing in the same air as Lance tries to regain his senses.

“I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

Words don’t seem to be an option yet, so Lance ops to nod instead. He sighs, relaxing as much as he can, nearly mourning the loss when Keith’s fingers are gone.  
-

“‘M gonna wash my hands, kay?”

Lance nods again, offering up a languid smile and a chaste peck to Keith’s lips before he heads over to the door. 

Kosmo doesn’t run in this time, thankfully. Lance isn’t sure what he’d do with a lap full of dog right now, not when he’s still trying to regain his composure. When Keith returns, a couple tissues in hand to clean up the mess, he stops a moment to survey Lance all splayed out over the sheets, blissed out and happy and still riding that endorphin high. 

“Good?” Keith asks, a little hesitant as he sits on the bed and gets to work. 

“Fucking awesome,” Lance grins, hooking their index fingers together. “You’re good at that.”

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles, blushing. It’s as if every remnant of his sly, confident self from only a few minutes ago just completely left the building. How one person can go from incredibly sexy and in control to all bashful and reserved like Keith does is kind of a mystery to Lance — but it’s also something he sort of loves about him. 

… “loves”?

_Woah, yeah, nope. Not yet._

“Should we do you?” Lance asks, nudging his head at Keith’s half-boner. It’s not like Lance himself is a master of words, either. 

“Nah, I think I needa… recharge,” Keith supplies, offering up a subtle smile. He dabs off the last of the mess from Lance’s torso and throws the tissues in a bin under his desk. Hands empty, and apparently at a small loss for what to do with himself, Keith unties his sex-mussed bun and reties it as neat as he can muster. The way his arm muscles visibly tense and contract, more built than Lance’s own sinewy frame, clear skin just slightly tanned around his forearms and tufts of black hair in his armpits — it all makes Lance want to do something really stupid, like lunge foward and lick him or something. 

“What are… is my hair okay?” Keith says after a moment, visibly confused as if they weren’t just all up in each other’s faces doing sex stuff only minutes earlier. Jeez, can’t a guy just ogle the dude he’s banging without an interrogation?

Lance chuckles, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Nah, it looks terrible.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You forgot this part —” 

He pushes himself up further, leaning in to tuck one unruly strand behind Keith’s ear while their faces hover only inches apart. Lance is well-aware he’s being an utter cheeseball, but it’s just too much fun to see Keith’s adorable and utterly confounded expression. _God_ , Lance bets he doesn’t even _know_ how fucking cute he can be. 

“... What?” Keith mumbles, brow furrowing. Lance is vaguely aware that he’s probably smiling kinda wide right now, based on how his cheeks are aching. He can’t help it though. It might just be the endorphins (he’s definitely still a little sex-drunk), but Keith’s eyes are all dark, and his eyelashes are long, and his neck is all soft as Lance drags his right hand down to rest on it. His left index finger is still hooked with Keith’s, and he can feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in, brushing their lips together. 

It’s not the kind of kiss you give someone you’re just sleeping with. Kisses don’t usually happen _after_ all the fucking — when they’re not leading up to anything. But Lance can’t really help it. And honestly, this feels kind of like a big deal. It’s probably not, not to Keith, but it is to himself. Because he hasn’t let himself do this in so long and he hasn’t _wanted to_ with anyone either. 

_“Rrrrrrr.”_

They break apart all startled, met with Kosmo whining and pawing at the door frame to Keith’s room. 

“Ah, shit —” Keith mumbles, getting up and pulling their fingers apart. “I needa walk him, he probably needs to piss.”

Lance blinks, willing his brain to get back down to Earth. “Uh, damn, okay. I can come wi —”

“No!” Keith nearly shouts, surprising them both. “I, uh — stay here. I’ll get us breakfast, we can keep hanging out in bed?”

Well. Isn’t that a dream come true?

“Hell yeah,” Lance grins excitedly. Lifting his hands dramatically behind his head, he sits back all content and trails his gaze after Keith as he throws on the first items of clothing he can find. “You’re definitely taking those off when you come back,” he adds, raising an eyebrow. 

Keith blinks at him, smirking, while shimmying into some running shorts. “Uh, yeah. For sure. I’ll be back in, like, half an hour?” 

“Sounds great.”

Once he’s out the door with Kosmo in tow, Lance reaches over to idly fuck with his phone. He really doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the bed at any point in the near future. It’s been _way_ too long since he’s had one of those all-day cuddle sessions with someone he’s been seeing. 

Thing is, he still hasn’t done any of his typical human morning routine. And as much as he just wants to laze around naked, he’s probably got some dried come on himself and he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. He also needs to take his meds.

“Uuuuuuuuugh,” Lance groans dramatically to no one in particular. His plans to get up come to a screeching halt, though, when his phone buzzes with an email notification. 

**Allura Lionhart 9:57 AM  
Outdoor bouldering and camping excursion for gym members**

Oh, hey! Look at that. Lance has been _really_ looking forward to hearing about the camping thing since the block party. He gives the email a quick scan, taking note of the date and any familiar names on the mailing list — including Katie Holt, Manuia “Hunk” Autufuga, Keith Kogane-Roy —

Damn, okay. Lance has legit never seen Keith’s real last name up until now. Weird. Good weird, though. 

— “Takashi Shirogane” — 

Huh? Is that Shiro? Lance totally thought “Shiro” was his first name, or something. Which is kind of silly, given that Lance’s name is a literal acronym and nowhere close to his actual first name, “Leandro.” It’s as if he’s got some sort of weird looking glass into everyone’s real identities. Super interesting, honestly. 

“ _BEEEEEP BEEEEEP_ ”

“FUCK!,” Lance yells, nearly dropping his phone on his face. His super obnoxious “take your vyvanse, bitch💋” alarm blares at full volume, quite rudely breaking him away from that fun thought tangent. It was about time, though. He should really take a quick shower and brush his teeth and get his brain all juiced up before Keith comes back. 

Setting his phone aside reluctantly, Lance gets up and stretches, heading to the bathroom. He’s probably gonna need to brainstorm ways of occupying himself for the next bit.

~~~

“Hey!” Keith calls, shutting the front door behind him. He fumbles with his keys a little, balancing a couple hot beverages in a tray in one hand, a takeout bag between his arm and his chest, and Kosmo’s leash on his wrist. It takes a whole lot of manoeuvring just to lock his fucking door, but whatever. He and Lance are gonna have a cute breakfast in bed no matter what. 

The thing is, Keith’s not completely sure how much of a handle he has on things today. Namely because the left side of his head is slowly but surely starting to throb, and he’s been squinting ever since he first stepped outside. This is _really_ not the fucking time for a migraine, given there is an actual naked and attractive human man in his bed that he would definitely love to have a cozy day in with. It doesn’t seem like it’s up to him whether the day goes smoothly, though. Apparently, the cards are stacked against him once again.

Keith just hopes it doesn’t get _too_ bad. He might just be able to play it off as not a big deal, without subjecting Lance to his grumpy and unpleasant migraine self — or worse, making Lance feel compelled to dote on him all day. Keith _really_ isn’t asking for that. 

The thing about the whole “chronic recurring headaches” is that it became normal, like, five months ago. At this point, Keith knows what he needs to do to ride it out. If he’s lucky, he might be in pain for only a few hours, and still be able to function like a normal person. If he’s unlucky, though, he might not be able to do much at all, for god knows how long. 

He hasn’t had one of those multiple-day-long ordeals in a long while, though. So he should be good for work tomorrow. But that doesn’t necessarily help in this very moment.

“I got breakfast —” Keith announces, trying his best to sound lighthearted as he carries the drink tray and paper bag into his room. “I got you steamed milk with honey, hope that’s —”

A loud yelp halts him dead in his tracks. Keith’s eyes widen — taking in the sight of Lance kneeling on his bedroom floor in a towel. Right next to him is what appears to be Keith’s box of _adult toys_ , turned onto its side, its contents spilled onto the floor. 

Lance sort of just stares back, all goggle-eyed and stupefied, his face turning deeper and deeper crimson by the second. In his palm, Keith notes a little belatedly, is his glass buttplug with a black swirly pattern. 

“Okay,” Lance starts, voice a little squeaky. “So this isn’t what it looks like —”

Keith gapes. “I dont — wha — _what does it look like?!_ ”

“I tripped!” Lance yells, as if that explains _anything_. “I dunno, it was on the floor and I tripped!”

Okay, fair. So what if Keith lives alone and keeps his box of sex toys haphazardly by the foot of his bed? He’s a fucking adult man!

Keith squints, eyes suddenly aching at the overhead light in the room. _Fuck_ , now is so not the time for this. The throbbing in his skull is only getting harder to ignore. 

He moves to his desk, albeit sort of robotically, and sets down the breakfast and hot drinks. Lance’s presence isn’t really doing much to take his mind off things, as he scrunches up his face in discomfort. 

“... Are you mad? Keith, I’m… I’m sorry, I know this shit is private, I shouldn’t have looked —”

He’s not mad. Not at all, honestly, though using words is getting increasingly more difficult. He takes a deep breath and presses his palms to his eyes, trying to get the pain under control. 

“Hey?”

“Not mad,” Keith mumbles, shaking his head. “It’s fine, it’s —” 

Another throb. A slight groan escapes his throat. 

“Woah, uh, okay,” Lance supplies. Keith vaguely registers the sound of Lance getting up, hand still pressed to his eyes. “You sure? Cause you don’t seem happy about this —”

“It’s not — I don’t care, it’s fine — ”

“Really? Not gonna lie, bud, I’m having a hard time believing it —”

“IT’S FINE!” 

… Well. Shit. That was uncalled for. 

When Keith opens his eyes, Lance stares back at him, clearly frightened. It’s that same look Shiro gave him the first time he had an outburst — though, to be fair, that first time was _way_ worse than right now. Like, he was _actually_ angry — not at anything in particular, mind you, but still mad nonetheless. This is totally different. 

He really doesn’t give a shit about the box of toys. It’s just that when his head decides to take him for an especially unpleasant and uncomfortable ride, he can become kind of an irritable asshole. 

Kosmo’s by his side in an instant, making soft little huffs and nudging at his palm and hip. Keith sighs, scratching his dog behind the ear and doing his best to ignore the fact that his brain feels like it’s being split open. Lance deserves to know what’s going on. It’s only fair. 

“I’m getting a migraine, I’m sorry. It’s just —”

“Duuude,” Lance interrupts, holding his hands up. “Say no more. I get it, it’s cool.” 

Keith deflates, shoulders hunching and eyes squinting shut again. 

“What do you need?”

There it is. Keith knew this would happen. Being doted on usually makes him supremely uncomfortable, though he’s not sure he’s capable of doing anything really, in this moment. 

Maybe it’s… kind of a good thing Lance is here. 

“I’m gonna sit down,” Keith manages, making his way to the bed. “Do you mind turning off the lights and pulling the curtains shut?”

“No problem at all. You need meds, or something?”

“Yeah, uh. There’s a bottle of ibuprophen on my desk.”

He leans back against the wall, propped up with pillows, Kosmo heading over to rest his head in his lap. Once the room feels a lot less bright, the light filtered through the fabric of his drapes, Keith allows himself to open his eyes slightly — trailing them after Lance as he exits the room.

“What’re you doing?”

“Plates!” Lance calls, presumably from the kitchen. 

“Huh?”

“You gotta eat. I’m also starving, so. We’re still doing breakfast, kay?”

Keith smirks as he returns to the room, a dinner plate in each hand. He can’t help it, really. Lance is cute. 

Sure, it feels like he’s being doted on. But for the first time ever, Keith can’t really find it in himself to mind at all. 

. . .

“Better?” Lance asks, holding a bag of frozen peas to Keith’s head. 

Keith snorts. “You don’t need to hold it for me.”

“I’m being a good host!”

“We’re in my apartment —”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

Keith sighs, reveling in the ice cold pressure spreading around his head. After he took his pill and they ate their ham and cheese croissants, Lance insisted that Keith eat a banana as well because his sister apparently swore by them for headaches. It didn’t fix everything, obviously — these post-concussion migraines were the result of a literal traumatic brain injury, and Keith’s not gonna banish them for good with a couple dietary choices — but things do seem a little easier now. 

The pain is still there. It’s definitely not gone. But a typical migraine day usually consists of either being alone with only pain and Kosmo for company. If Keith’s feeling especially down, Shiro or his mom might come over to keep his mood from taking a nosedive. He doesn’t let them do anything for him, though, except talk or play some shows to pass the time. 

Today is different. Mainly because of Lance, and the way he helps out so enthusiastically that Keith can’t even bring himself to feel uncomfortable. It’s like Lance is _enjoying_ being here, despite the fact that Keith is grumpy and incapacitated. And honestly, if he’s being real with himself, Keith’s kind of enjoying it too. 

Lance is also still naked, despite the fact that Keith is fully clothed. Which is… fine, honestly. Pretty cool.

“It’s better,” he says after a moment, shooting a small smile in Lance’s direction. “Thanks. You really don’t need to —”

“Ah ah, bap bap!” Lance pinches his lips together. “It’s nothing. I’m having a great time.”

And he means it. It’s obvious. It’s written all over his face. 

Jesus fucking Christ, Keith doesn’t deserve him.

“I know, I’m the best,” Lance adds, letting go and leaning back all smug. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, I have an idea!” Lance jumps off the bed, bending down to pick up — _oh hell no_.

“Nooooo,” Keith groans, running his hands down his face.

“Yes, Keith, you’re gonna tell me the story behind every one of these things.”

“Noooo,” Keith whines. “My head hurts, stop.”

“I’ll start! I remember this one —”

He pulls out that same glass buttplug from earlier, holding it out to Keith like some sort of ancient relic. 

“This is the one I washed.”

Wait… 

_What?_

“What the _fuck_!?”

“It’s really pretty, looks just like I remembered it —”

“Wha — _how do you even_ —”

“I have a weird brain!” Lance exclaims, rolling his eyes. “Can’t remember where I put my fucking keys half the time, but I sure as hell remember mullet guy’s buttplug”

“ _Gimme that_ ,” Keith grits out, snatching it and clutching it close to his chest. 

“Really?” Lance raises an eyebrow. “You’re down for round two, already? ‘Cause I thought with the whole headache thing —”

“Uuuugh.”

“What about these?” Lance continues, completely unfazed. He lifts a couple small black clamps out of the box, attached to a remote with a wire. He snorts. “Oh my god, I don’t even know what these are.”

“Nipple clamps.”

“Fff, yeah sure.”

“Seriously.”

It seems like it takes him a moment to process. Slowly but surely, though, Lance’s face twists into one of both understanding and complete shock. Eyes wide, lips pursed, he examines the clamps again and lets out an indignant squawk. 

“Oh my god, KEITH!”

“ _What?_ ” Keith mumbles, blushing. 

“You’re KINKY!” Lance yells, waving the clamps around for emphasis. “I didn’t know you were KINKY!”

“Uuuuugh,” Keith groans, hiding his face in his bangs, the bag of frozen peas still balanced haphazardly on his head. He can’t help but smile, though, ‘cause even when he’s being deliberately annoying, Lance is still charming as hell.

“We’re gonna have so much FUN, KEEITH! Holy Shit!”

He starts excavating the box again, apparently hungry for more wacky toys to embarrass him with. Keith makes zero effort to stop Lance, though, opting instead to just sit back and watch him, a stupid grin blooming on his face. 

“Woooooaaaah.” 

_Please don’t let it be the fleshlight,_ Keith silently prays. 

“You have a fleshlight?!”

Great. 

“Why is it shaped like a dick?” Lance wonders, pulling what is definitely _not_ the fleshlight from the box. Instead, he seems to have gotten his hands on the kind of intimidatingly large penis sheath Keith bought when he was banging a dude who was into that sort of thing — meaning, into giant dicks. 

“That’s, uh — that’s not a fleshlight,” Keith points out, grinning. “It’s a sheath.”

“Whuh —” Lance squints, turning the toy around in his hands. 

“You wear it while you’re fucking someone to make your dick bigger,” Keith adds, matter of factly. “And your balls go through that hole.”

The look on Lance’s face is absolutely priceless. It’s as if he’s discovered the holy grail. He holds the black dick-shaped toy up by his nose, eyes nearly going cross-eyed. 

“Is it awesome?" he asks, full of awe. 

“Yeah,” Keith chuckles. “It is.”

“Dude, it’s fucking huge though,” Lance adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “How do you even take it?”

“Dunno,” Keith shrugs. “I wasn’t the one taking it.” He smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “It’s not that big.”

“Oh, fuck you. It totally is!”

“Nah.”

“Ya-HUH!”

“Nope.”

“Fuck OFF!”

. . .

After their bickering session over the dick sheath, Keith's almost forgotten migraine started to resurface. It wasn’t terrible — but it was just uncomfortable enough to remind him that it was still there. Lance nearly panicked for a second, which was kind of cute, but quickly went into his weird strategy headspace that Keith’s only really seen him enter while climbing. Long story short, Lance called “his guy,” a.k.a. Betty Cracker, a lovely middle-aged woman that makes cannabis-infused baked goods, to request a delivery of some CBD chocolate. 

“It’s good shit,” Lance had said. “Veronica used to get bad period cramps and migraines, and it’d help. I’ve taken some too, sometimes. If I’m in pain at night.”

The thing was, Keith knew he shouldn’t take anything without at least reading up on how it might interact with his meds. Which meant needing to tell Lance about the fact that he’s on meds. _Which_ — if he’s being honest — probably isn’t a big deal, given that apparently Lance is too. But it’s still a weird thing. Keith doesn’t like admitting he needs daily chemical help to keep his shit together. 

He felt kind of dumb after telling Lance, though, cause the dude literally didn’t bat an eye. In fact, he took out his phone and did a little research on CBD and SSRI interactions himself, since Keith’s eyes were still sensitive. Lance read some things out loud, and Keith determined that it should be fine if he only takes a little, given that it’s been a while since he took his meds. 

The chocolate was delivered within the hour. It ended up helping, honestly. Didn’t do much that was totally noticeable, but it was enough for Keith not to need the cold pack and to be able to relax a little. 

Presently, he feels almost… totally fine. Not out of the woods, but functional and… _happy_. Way more so than any typical migraine day. 

And honestly, giving the CBD chocolate all the credit would be unfair. It’s Lance that’s making things so much better.

“Do you prefer topping or bottoming?” Lance asks, before taking a bite of the pesto penne they quickly threw together for lunch. All the talking about sex is probably helping lift Keith’s mood too, honestly. 

“Honestly, I don’t really have a preference?” Keith leans back into the pillows propped up against the wall. “Depends on who I’m with, or how I’m feeling, I dunno. I like both.”

“Huh,” Lance replies, quirking an eyebrow. He continues chewing as if they’re discussing the weather or something. Honestly, it’s been a while since Keith reached _this_ level of comfort with someone.

He takes a bite from his own bowl. “You?”

Lance shrugs, taking another bite. “I don’t know. Haven’t bottomed much. Like… I tried it a couple times with this girl.

“Mm?”

“We did, like —” He gestures kind of vaguely at the bed around them. “What you and I did earlier, you know? And she pegged me like, twice or something before she moved away. That’s it, though.”

“Never with a guy?”

“No,” Lance responds, brow furrowed. “Never with a guy.”

This entire line of questioning is only peaking Keith’s curiosity further. 

“You, uh —” Keith clears his throat. “Have you been… with guys?”

Lance’s face twists in confusion. He gestures between them with the hand holding his fork. “I mean, yeah?”

“No I mean like… guys that aren’t me?”

“Oh.” Lance raises his eyebrows, a faint flush appearing on his cheeks. He drops the fork into his bowl and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. You and another Grindr dude, and a guy at a bar. Nothing, like… there were never repeats, if you know what I mean.”

He sighs, taking a final bite from his bowl before setting it aside on the bedside table. Clapping his hands onto his knees, he meets Keith’s gaze with a determined expression. “Okay, we’re doing the talk, I guess.”

“The wha?” Keith mumbles, mouth full.

“The, like… sexual history talk? I dunno, it’s kind of a thing.”

“Oh.” Keith was not aware it was a thing. In his experience, guys don’t _talk_ all that much. 

“I’ve been with three dudes, four ladies and one person who didn’t identify as either. So, like… seven people.”

Huh. Seven. 

“That’s not many people,” Keith blurts, before his brain can tell him to shut the fuck up.

“Wha — it _so_ is, buddy!”

Keith shrugs.

“It is!” Lance huffs, crossing his arms. “Compared to Hunk and Pidge, I’m like… I get around! I mean, yeah Pidge isn’t into… people, in general, and Hunk doesn’t do casual stuff — what, like, how many people have _you_ been with?”

“I dunno,” Keith answers honestly, patting Kosmo’s sleeping form next to himself. 

“You…” Lance twitches. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t keep count.” Keith shrugs. 

“So, you don’t even remember everyone?”

“Lance, I didn’t remember _you_ at first,” Keith points out. “My memory’s shit in general, I don’t have much room for stuff like that.”

“Okay but like, ball park it!” Lance insists, eyes brimming with curiosity. 

Keith’s face twists, trying to remember. It’s really not easy, and he’s kind of drawing a blank. He knows he’s dated one person… or two, now. But he’s had his fair share of one-off hook ups, like anyone who had Grindr on their phone from the age of 18 to 24. Before that, though, he’d never been with anyone.

“I dunno, probably less than thirty? But more than twenty?” Keith frowns. “That doesn’t sound right though, I dunno. I’m not good at math.”

“Wha —” Lance gapes, his left eye twitching again. “This isn’t even _math!_ ”

“It’s like… counting! Numbers, whatever.”

“Still!” Lance runs his hands through his hair, gripping at the root. “That’s like — I dunno, like —”

“Like what?” 

Keith really hopes this conversation isn’t heading into dangerous territory. He probably knows Lance enough at this point to know that he’s not the type to judge people for this kind of thing. But then again, they’re still learning about one another. And in the grand scheme of things, they really haven’t been seeing each other for very long. 

“I mean like — nnnghhh,” Lance groans, running his hands over his face. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that he’s mildly freaking out — Keith’s been around him long enough to recognize the signs by now. That doesn’t really bode well, though. For the whole “dangerous territory” thing.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Lance sighs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, really. Whatever.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing?”

“Nooo, no no. Just… ignore me,” Lance mumbles, reaching over for his bowl, apparently for the sole purpose of giving his hand something to do. 

Keith scowls. “Look — can you… can you just tell me?” 

Lance shakes his head, biting his lips. “Nah, it’s really fine. It’s a ‘me’ thing, not a ‘you’ thing.”

“Really? Cause I’m kinda assuming it’s a ‘me’ thing and… Can you just tell me what you’re thinking so I don’t assume you’re judging me for it?”

The room falls silent. Lance freezes, face twisting with a slight embarrassed tension. He looks off, down and to the side, his posture suddenly making him seem very small. “I just —” Squinting, he takes a deep breath. “How am I supposed to like… live up to that, you know?”

Keith blinks, taken aback. “What?”

“Like — uuuugh, I dunno how to like, explain without sounding like a complete dipshit but like… you’re _experienced_. You’ve probably had a lot of great sex, I dunno. And with _guys_ , so like, you know what you’re doing. _Fuck_ ” He runs his hands down his face again. “I’m sorry, I sound so — so insecure, it’s fine. Like, don’t worry about it.”

Holy shit. Okay, so Keith fully didn’t expect that at all. Especially since — 

“Lance how many people have you slept with _more_ than once?”

He frowns. “Uh, like, I guess minus the two guys that aren’t you, everyone else?”

“I have with three people. Everyone else was,” Keith cringes, unsure of how awkward this admission is. “Everyone else was just that once.”

Lance blinks, brow furrowed. “... Oh.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, either,” he adds, shaking his head. “It’s completely different, sleeping with someone you don’t know and you don’t need to see again compared to someone you’re —”

 _Falling in love with_ , echoes in Keith’s head. He cuts himself off at the right moment though, choking on his words. It’s definitely — it’s too early for that. The last thing he wants is to scare Lance off. 

“... dating.” 

Keith’s not sure what his own face is doing, but it’s feeling kinda warm. 

“Yeah,” Lance nods. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry I assumed —”

“Don’t apologize, it’s fine.” Keith smiles, setting his bowl aside. “You’re uh, you’re good at it, though.”

“At what?”

“... sex,” Keith finishes, cringing. That… wasn’t supposed to come out so blunt. 

Thankfully, though, Lance is grinning happily, chuckling and shaking his head. “Thanks. Uh, so are you.”

Their eyes lock together, as if a barely noticeable electric pull is tethering them together. Keith feels Lance brushing his shin softly, with the back of an index finger, he notes, when he breaks their staring to investigate. When he looks back up, Lance’s eyes are wide. A little hesitant, but open all the same. 

“Round two?” he asks, almost a whisper. “Like, if your head is feeling —”

“Kosmo, _out_.”

. . .

-  
“Round two” ends up consisting of a lot of fingering — except this time, Keith was on the receiving end. Lance rimmed him at the same time, stroking him through it. He’s pretty sure he saw stars.  
-

He didn’t get to do much to reciprocate, though. 

“I can’t believe you came from dry humping the bed,” Keith wheezes, giggling uncontrollably in his post-orgasm bliss. 

“IT WAS HOT!” Lance yells, gesturing wildly. “SUE ME!”

Keith rolls over, wrapping Lance in a horizontal bear hug and squeezing him against his chest, head in his neck. They’re definitely gonna need to clean up again. The sheets are gonna need it too. But for now, Keith’s happy to just bask in the afterglow of hormones, feelings and man spunk that’s getting him high out of his mind right now. 

He’s still got a bit of a headache. He’s kind of had one this entire time, but it’s been more than tolerable. Pretty easy to ignore, thanks to how fucking great everything else is. 

It could be the CBD chocolate. Or maybe the bedrest. Or the frozen peas, or the food, or the prescription ibuprophen. But the truth is, the most glaring difference between today and every other day he’s battled a migraine, is that _today_ he’s been happy. He’s been in such a fucking good mood this entire time. 

And it’s not just because of Lance. It mostly is, obviously, because Lance is so bright and happy to be here as well. But it’s also because Keith never realized how good it could feel to just let someone be there. Not just, like, to keep him company as a distraction, but to be _actually_ present and involved through everything. 

It’s different than with his mom and Shiro. And not just for the obvious reasons. It’s just that every time he’s not feeling well, they get so _concerned_ for his well being. They know that he gets down on himself, and that he has trouble functioning sometimes, and they try their damndest to just get him back to functioning like a person again. 

That’s not what Lance is trying to do, though. He doesn’t seem to care that Keith might need to spend a day resting instead of working his mind and body overtime just to get up and seize the day, or whatever. It’s like he just wants to be here, and make Keith as comfortable as possible. And he’ll do things like call up a woman named Betty Cracker for some edibles, or excavate his box of toys, or make him some pasta and talk about sex to make that happen. 

“FUCK!” Lance yells, arms going rigid around Keith.

“What?” Keith responds, words muffled in Lance’s chest. 

“We didn’t even use any of the toys!” He continues, pulling back. “You have this whole fucking box of cool shit and I just used my mouth —”

“I like your mouth,” Keith interrupts, grinning. “You can try the nipple clamps later if you want —”

“Yeah, no.” Lance raises a finger to his face, booping his nose. “Nothing clampy near my nipples until I figure out how those actually work, kay?”

“I can show you sometime.”

“I bet you can.” Lance grins, leaning in for a kiss. 

They stay just like that — foreheads together, arms and legs entangled together, lips occasionally meeting, occasionally hovering inches apart. It’s lazy, it’s soft, and it’s so great that Keith just soaks it up, eyes closing and body growing heavy with every breath. 

It’s probably late afternoon by now, but neither of them are really counting. Maybe they’ll go for a walk with Kosmo, or keep hanging out here, or maybe even go for an evening climb with Keith’s feeling up to it. Doesn’t really matter to him, though. Everything that’s happened already has been more than enough.

“Whaddya wanna do now?” Lance mumbles, brushing Keith’s hair back and delivering a peck to his temple. 

“Wanna watch The Office? Keith suggests, smiling with heavily-lidded eyes.

Lance chuckles, pulling him in for a hug. “Hell yeah. Sounds great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I wrote "sheath" in this chapter, I kept hearing "sheith" in my head. Also, Keith's box of toys is lowkey inspired by my roommate's own box beneath her bed. I've actually never seen it because her under-bed space is where one of the cats lives, and I don't wanna bother him. But I've heard tales of her fabled "big box o' sex toys," and I am aware that there are nipple clamps in it. We don't have many boundaries in our household. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!! It was fun to write a 100% klance chapter, finally. Hope y'all enjoyed <3 
> 
> translation of Lance's lines of dialogue:
> 
> Criss --> means "christ", basically a curse word
> 
> Ey, tu capotes-tu? --> are you freaking out
> 
> "Ayoye, c'est cool. J'men calisse." --> Hey, it's cool. I don't give a shit. 
> 
> J'comprends pas --> i dont understand
> 
> "Ey, c’po d’ma faute, c’est toi qui m’a fourré si bien que j’ai devenu franco" --> Hey, it's not my fault, you're the one that fucked me so good I turned french


	10. Camping and Climbing pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you give me a hand?” he grunts, clearly annoyed. Oh shit — right, Lance is supposed to be helping. 
> 
> “Shit, sorry babe! One sec —” 
> 
> He jogs over crouching down and picking up a couple tent poles like he knows what he’s doing (he doesn’t), and kind of starts to try sticking them together before noticing that Keith is — 
> 
> He’s not doing much. He’s just standing there, blushing and staring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome BACK! I missed you! 
> 
> Turns out, getting deep into a pit of intense focus and ignoring your responsabilities is difficult when you're properly medicated for your ADHD. Who knew! Also, who knew that accidentally taking pain meds rather than ADHD meds 3 days in a row would hamper personal productivity. ALSO who knew that the little balls on the end of horseshoe septum rings will start falling off if you don't tighten them properly on your own? Anyway, this was a chaotic run down of the last week of my life. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Just a note, Matt is non-binary in this fic. This has been the case for the whole fic (i'm not retconning anything), but it just sort of hasn't come up until now. I'll be using both they and he pronouns to refer to Matt Holt for the duration of this story.
> 
> CW for sex! Turns out, I'm writing mildly explicit smut more regularly now. Didn't really plan for this, but the thirst was real. What canya do. I'm not changing the rating though, and the sex is sandwiched between dashes in case you don't wanna read it. 
> 
> Thanks so much for following this story, and I hope you enjoy chapter 10!

“Yeah… Yeah, I will. Okay, ha! V, shu — No, you hang up first… No you! Okay, okay. See you soon. Bye.”

Acxa giggles silently to herself from where she sits on the floor of the garage, cross-legged. She hangs up her phone, sighing softly.

“Um, hi?”

“Wha —” 

Keith smirks when she turns to face him, blushing deeply. “Who was that?”

“Nothing,” Acxa mumbles, running a hand through her hair as she gets up. 

“Oh?” Keith crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. “Didn’t sound like nothing. Sounded like — ”

“Okay, fuck you, it was Veronica,” she huffs, avoiding eye contact as she heads over to the tool box.

“Oooh —”

“We’re… talking.”

“And seeing each other soon, apparently.”

“Nnnngh,” Acxa groans, facepalming. “Okay, just… can you not tell Lance?”

“Huh?” Keith quirks an eyebrow. “Of course I’m gonna tell Lance —”

“Keith, he hates me.”

They fall silent, Keith opening his mouth and shutting it abruptly. It’s not like he and Lance have talked much about the whole Acxa and his sister debacle, but from what he’s gathered…

Yeah. Lance isn’t a fan. 

“I, uh… okay?” Keith sounds doubtful. How could he _not_ tell Lance about this, though? He’s already got enough problems filtering his thoughts around him. Lance is kind of a master at making him feel all comfortable and at ease and _safe_ — a perfect recipe for getting Keith to have zero handle on anything coming out of his own mouth.

Acxa squints. “You’re gonna tell him, aren’t you?”

“... No?” he lies, incredibly obviously. It literally sounds like he’s talking out of his own ass. 

“Okay… okay, _great_ ,” she starts, pacing. “I’m gonna tell Veronica you know and she’ll just have to deal with Lance —”

“It’s probably not a big deal? He’ll be fine —”

“Do you know what it’s like to find out your sibling is dating their shitty ex again?” Acxa retorts, stopping in her tracks. 

“Uhhh —” 

Honestly, Shiro is probably the closest thing Keith’s got to a sibling. And he’s always made excellent dating decisions. Shiro’s taste in men is _impeccable_. 

Keith cringes at himself, unsure of whether that thought process was heading into gross territory. “No, I don’t know what that’s like?”

“Well, neither do I, but it probably sucks.”

“True.”

Acxa scowls. 

“What?! I don’t know — you brought it up!” 

“Why are you here?” she snaps, obviously eager to change the subject. “Thought you took the weekend off?”

“I’m borrowing a tent from Kolivan,” Keith says, walking over to pick it up from the corner of the room. “Shiro’s car-pooling us up, he’s gonna pick me up here.”

“Nice.” She smirks, leaning against the workstation. “First weekend away with Lance.”

Keith scoffs. “It’s not like… We’re not gonna be alone, it’s not like that.”

“You’ll be sharing a tent, though.” 

“So?” he grumbles, hoisting the strap of said tent on his shoulder. 

“You seem excited,” she remarks sarcastically. 

“I am,” he mumbles, looking away. Keith is _definitely_ excited, but also anxious as heck for no discernable reason. Something about all the logistical planning these past couple weeks, and the knowledge that he and Lance will be basically out as a couple to everyone on this trip, _and_ the fact that they will be staying in their own tent has kind of done a number on him. It all feels very real, in a really great yet anxiety-inducing way, and Keith’s kind of just trying not to run through the list of everything that might go wrong. 

Sure, it’s a list of worst-case scenarios. Chances are, they won’t have some sort of big fight or get sick of one another, given they’ve been hanging out pretty frequently these past couple weeks. They’ve shared a bed overnight a handful of times now, and sleeping together is kind of becoming familiar. 

Things have been moving along pretty… gently. And it’s a pace that’s really working for Keith. They haven’t thrown around labels yet, though they’ve established that this whole thing is exclusive. They’ve also established that this is a… romantic thing. Keith doesn’t really have any doubts about whether Lance is into him like that at this point. 

They also haven’t had full-on anal yet. Or at least, not this time around. They’ve done _that_ before, but it was back when they were two strangers who thought it was a one-off thing. So it’s kind of funny that they’re taking their time in this department, but Keith doesn’t mind at all.

Thing is, they’ll be sharing a tent for two nights. And as much as Keith doesn’t want to be a thirsty bitch, he kind of _really_ wants to get dicked. Or do the dicking, whatever. He doesn’t really give a shit at this point, it’s been a while. 

And _that_ is the final source of anxiety. Because getting dicked in the woods isn’t something you can just _do_ without thought. You gotta make sure your asshole’s ready, that you’re stocked up on wipes and toilet paper, and lube, and fiber supplements, and condoms just in case, because if shit goes down (pun not intended. Dammit, hanging around Lance is rubbing off on him), it’s not like showers are an option. Unless they are, or unless there's a lake nearby. He has no idea what to expect.

“I’m… looking forward to it,” Keith adds meekly, trying not to think about the fact that half the weight of his backpack is just condoms, lube, metamucil, an emergency buttplub, toy cleaner, baby wipes, extra toilet paper, and Ziploc bags to seal up the plug until he can disinfect it and store used condoms until they find a garbage. The faint aftertaste of the water-soluble fibre supplement and bran muffin he ate for breakfast isn’t helping. Fucking hell, people with vaginas don’t know how lucky they are when it comes to forest sex.

… Oh no. He forgot to pack a pillow. 

“Shit,” Keith spits, digging into his pocket for his phone. “Gotta call Shiro, sorry.” Axca snorts, turning to get to work.

“ _Hey, Keith, what's wrong?_ ” Shiro replies, all relaxed and clearly not freaking out. Ugh, fuck him.

“Fuck off,” Keith says, before he can help himself. 

“ _Oh no, what did I do?_ ”

“Can you bring me an extra pillow? Please?”

“ _We’re already on the way to Matt’s, but I can ask them. I’m sure they won’t mind._ ”

Keith sighs in relief. “Thanks.”

“ _We over-packed, too. If you need condoms or metamucil —_ ”

“ _SHIRO!_ ” Keith hisses aggressively into the receiver. “Who the fuck is ‘we?’”

“ _Curtis and Adam are coming!” Shiro adds, cheerfully. “They couldn’t say no to a weekend in the country. They say hi, by the way._ ”

“ _Hey, buddy!_ ”

“ _Hi!_ ”

“Am I on the car speakerphone?!”

“ _We’re pulling up at Matt’s, see you soon!”_

_“Bye, Keith!”_

_“Bye!”_

Keith hangs up hastily before letting out a long groan. _Fuck_ , he didn’t anticipate that his entire triad of dad figures would be coming. They’re probably going to embarrass him. Both on purpose and not. 

“The whole triad’s coming?” Axca asks, fiddling with the rear brake on a yellow fixie. She definitely recognizes Keith’s specific “the triad is gonna embarrass me” groan by now. 

“Yep,” he answers, curtly. Dropping his backpack and the tent, Keith jogs over to his section of the garage, where Lance’s old bike, Blue, is sitting half built. If he’s gonna be dealing with pre-trip jitters, he might as well get his hands busy. 

Lance vaguely knows that Keith’s been working on Blue, though he’s been trying to keep him in the dark. Keith only shared that he got his hands on the frame and will “take care of things” from there, and Lance is still under the impression that he’s gonna be paying to have a bike assembled. Little does he know, Blue’s gonna be his birthday gift. And Keith’s gonna do all the work himself. 

Building a bike from scratch will typically take him anywhere from half an hour to three hours, depending on a bunch of factors. But Blue’s been taking _ages_ , mainly because Keith’s been ordering specific parts for her that they don’t have in store. And returning them when they don’t live up to expectations. And ordering new ones all over again. 

Sure, he’s being a little anal about the whole thing. He even spent an evening using a metallic sharpie to fill in the chipped parts of Sylvio and Nadia’s drawings, and ordered a fancy protective film online to wrap the frame up and immortalize their cute little doodles forever. It was kind of a pain in the ass, but you know. The things you do for love.

… Not that they’re in _love_ , or anything. That would be… a lot.

“You’re gonna have a great time,” Acxa says, shooting him a small smile from across the room. Dang, Keith’s stress must be palpable. 

She’s right though. For all the jitters he’s been feeling, he honestly can’t wait to get out of the city. It’ll be a weekend of climbing, hiking, camping, and _Lance_ , and it’ll probably be an amazing time. He’s just hoping his brain will let him enjoy it. 

~~~

“WHERE ARE MY CONDOMS?!” Lance yells at full volume, stomping around the apartment. This is _so_ not the fucking time for a packing crisis. “They’re not in the medicine cabinet!”

“I borrowed them!” Pidge answers from the living room. “They’re in my room, on the bedside table.”

“Wha —” Lance spins around, beelining for her room. Sure enough, his opened box of Magnum Thins is right there next to the bed. 

“Why do _you_ need condoms?!” Lance shrieks accusingly, storming into the living room a moment later. 

Pidge raises an eyebrow, lounging casually on the sofa adjacent to her packed bag, all ready to go. “I wanted to go ass to vag with a toy.”

“EEEUUUGH, PIIIIDGE!” 

“Why do you need them?” she adds, eyeing him skeptically. “They’ve been in my room for a week, and Keith’s been over, like, twice.”

“We might bang,” Lance answers, crossing his arms.

She chuckles, leaning back into the sofa. “Pretty sure you guys banged already. You weren’t exactly quiet.”

Lance gasps. He _totally_ didn’t think she was home for their extended 69ing on Tuesday. 

“Yes, I was home Tuesday,” she adds, reading his mind. Well, isn’t that fucking horrifying. 

“Alright, well, as much as I _love_ this conversation, I need to get my shit together,” Lance scoffs, returning to his room. Shiro gave them a 15-minute warning, and he _still_ isn’t done packing. 

It’s not like they’re going on a big trip. They’re driving a couple hours from the city for a two-night camping and climbing thing. But given Lance’s weird brain, weird bladder, elaborate skincare routine, and likely chance at having sex, he’s got a lot of things to bring. 

“Hoookay,” he mutters, dragging his duffel bag, sleeping bag, and camping mattress into the living room a few minutes later. He whips out his phone, opening his list of things to pack “Shirts, shorts, underwear, sweatpants, hoodie, toiletries, condoms, Vyvanse, Prelief, cleanser, toner, moisturizer, toilet paper, socks, Metamucil, wipes, sleeping bag, pillow, towel, flashlight, Rachel’s sleeping pad, socks, lube, warming lube, cooling lube, massage gel —”

“Why do you have every kind of lube?” 

“Shut up, Pidge, why do you _you_ steal people’s condoms? 

“Hunk also steals your condoms,” Pidge points out. 

Hunk nods, sitting next to her on the couch. “That I do.”

“You guys suck.”

“You weren’t using them for _months_!” 

“Uh, buddy?” Hunk interrupts. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Huh?” Lance squints at his list. Every item _is_ checked off, so he must —

“Did you pack your climbing gear?”

Lance’s eyes widen. “ _Fuck._

Thankfully, his shoes, watter bottle, and chalk are already packed up in a drawstring gym bag. He brings it over to the living room, suddenly very concerned that he might have left something very important.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Pidge pipes up, an obnoxious smirk on her face. 

“What question?”

“Why do you need condoms?”

“Uuuuuuugh,” Lance groans into his hands. He needs new friends. “In case we do anal.”

“You haven’t done anal yet?!” Pidge yells, _way_ too fucking loudly. Nice. Hopefully the parents of the eight year-old next door will hear them. 

“ _No._ ,” Lance snaps. “We haven’t.”

“But you literally already did! Two years ago!”

“Pidge,” Hunk says, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing the thing.”

“You’re _totally_ doing the thing,” Lance tacks on. 

“Wha —” she scoffs. “I don’t have a ‘thing.’”

“You totally have a thing. Your thing is asking too many questions about Lance’s sex life when he’s feeling grumpy.”

“It’s fine when I’m not grumpy, PIDGE! But I’m grumpy right now!”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Why are you grumpy, even? You’ve been excited about this trip for weeks!” 

Lance opens his mouth, a retort dying on his lips. He was planning on denying it — on lying straight out of his butt and telling some bullshit about nerves, or about being stressed about packing, or whatever. But it would be a boldfaced lie, because the truth is that this entire afternoon has been really weird for Lance. 

He’s been doing a successful job of ignoring what’s on his mind. The packing was a welcome distraction from the fact that Veronica called a half an hour earlier to let him know that she and Acxa are… _talking_. And probably going to see each other in Toronto next weekend. 

Not to mention that the moment they hung up, he noticed a notification from messenger. He had _another_ new, unread message from Jenny sitting in his inbox. 

**I’m doing good too. And i respect tha…**

For all he knows, she’s probably just ending the conversation. It’s not like it was anywhere close to ongoing — she took weeks to answer, and Lance didn’t even expect to get that much. 

But he’s still got that weird desire to avoid opening it forever mixed up with anxiety over what the message contains. So once again, instead of basking in the glory of his past couple weeks with Keith, or being excited about the fact that he’s gonna be bouldering outdoors with people he loves, Lance is all bent out of shape _again_ over both his own ex _and_ his sister’s ex re-entering his life. It kind of feels like a sick joke at this point. 

“No reason,” he waves off dismissively, avoiding eye-contact and plopping down into their bowl chair. 

“Okaaaay,” Pidge drawls. “Suspicious.”

“Did Jenny message you again?”

Lance’s eyes widen, involuntarily shooting Hunk a terrified look. _Jesus_ , the level of telepathy they’ve cultivated between them is becoming alarming. 

Hunk smiles, all warm and loving like Lance isn’t about to shit his pants. “She did, didn’t she?”

“Block her!” Pidge chants, pumping a fist in the air. 

“Wha — I thought you wanted me to talk to her!”

“Yeah, but you obviously don’t want to do that,” Pidge points out. “So block her. Easy.”

Lance huffs crossing his arms. “You guys are giving me mixed messages —”

“Did you end up answering that last one?” Hunk asks. “Like, the one you were freaking out over?” 

“I did,” Lance replies carefully. “I said I was doing good and that I don’t wanna get a beer.”

“That’s great, what more could she have to say?”

“I dunno,” Lance shrugs. “She’s probably just like, ‘alright.’”

Hunk squints. “But you don’t know… because you didn’t open the message.”

“I DON’T WANNA OPEN IT!” Lance yells, waving his arms everywhere.

Pidge shoots him a confused scowl. “Then block her!”

“I don’t wanna do that either!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know!”

Lance slumps back into his seat, eyes squeezed shut. He’s really _not_ up to facing anyone after that admission. Honestly, it’s been _four years_ , and this kind of thing should really not be affecting him as much as it is.

Maybe he isn’t over it. Or maybe _the incident_ is the kind of thing he can never really get over. Maybe it’s one of those bad experiences that he'll keep remembering when things are going good to remind him of how quickly it can all fall apart. 

“Lance,” Hunk’s soothing voice interjects. Lance opens his eyes reluctantly to look at his friend. “Do you have something you need to say to her? It’s not like you guys ever talked after —”

“Yes,” he admits, looking away. It’s not like Hunk can’t tell when he’s lying. “I have a million things to say to her but… it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never get to.”

“You could —”

“I should be over it, you know?” Lance sighs, sinking further into the chair. “It shouldn’t matter to me anymore, it’s been long enough.”

“But it still does?” 

“Yeah, and I feel like garbage."

When Lance looks up, after a couple tense, silent seconds, Pidge and Hunk are exchanging one of those worried looks they reserve solely for Lance-related issues. In a couple seconds, they’ll probably both purse their lips and look at him and Hunk will say something reassuring that will ease a solid 60 percent of Lance’s concerns. 

Pidge and Hunk purse their lips, turning toward him. _Ha. Called it._

“Lance, we’re about to go away for the weekend and we won’t have Wi-Fi,” Hunk starts. “You really don’t need to do anything about this now. Take some time to think about it — maybe when we’re back Sunday, things will seem a lot clearer, you know?

Fair point. Very fair point. It may be advice that he’s received a thousand times before from every person who’s ever been well-acquainted with Lance’s brain, but it’s enough. It’s 60 percent. 

“Yeah, yeah okay.”

“You good?” Pidge asks, her voice much smaller than before. Damn, Lance must have looked especially miserable for her to drop her aggressive “I care about you so I’m gonna yell at you” act.

“I’m good,” Lance smiles. It’s not an entirely comfortable smile, but it’s okay. It _will_ be okay, because he’s got a weekend filled with a bunch of stuff he loves ahead of him. It’ll be a great distraction. 

And who knows, maybe a couple days with Keith might straighten things out? 

. . .

“Hey, guys!” Lance greets, slipping into Shiro’s rented minivan to a chorus of greetings. Pidge and Hunk installed themselves in the back with Matt, leaving a nice open spot for him right beside Keith. Score. 

He buckles his seatbelt and turns, greeted with the sight of Keith — hair tied up haphazardly and grey t-shirt stained with bike grease. Keith smiles brightly at him, and sure enough, Lance feels a lot of the tension in his chest melt away. 

Because… well, how could it not? He gets to spend the next _two nights_ beside him in their own tent. 

Oooh, boy. Lance cannot _wait_ to defile Rachel’s camping mattress.

He leans in, delivering a chaste peck to Keith’s lips before he can convince himself otherwise. Who cares about a little PDA at this point? It’s not like everyone’s not gonna know. 

When he pulls back, Keith looks majorly flustered. Aw, point for Lance —

“You must be Lance?” A super hot man in glasses says, turning around in the front passenger’s seat. “I’m so happy to be meeting you.”

“Me too,” another super hot dude says, next to Keith. Wait, what the fuck kind of car did he even get into —

“Adam,” the man in front says, offering a hand. Lance shakes it, still bewildered until something… clicks.

“Oh my god, you’re the _triad_ ,” Lance breathes, as if he’s just witnessed Jesus Christ’s resurrection. 

“Curtis,” hot guy next to Keith adds, chuckling.

“That’s us.” Shiro lets out a lighthearted laugh from the driver’s seat, shooting a grin at them through the rear-view mirror.

So, the hot guy energy in this van is near-overwhelming apparently. Lance has _got_ to stay composed though — openly thirsting over Keith’s surrogate brother/dad his husbands wouldn’t be the finest way to kick off this trip. 

It’s not entirely helping that Keith is just staring at him expectantly, as if to encourage him to say something — _anything_ at this point. It’s probably been a near 30-seconds of Lance just gaping dumbly like a dead fish. 

“That’s cool!” Lance sputters, all squeaky. _Dang_ , if this isn’t a worst-case scenario —

“So, what do you do?” Adam asks, ultra-casually. Nice, at least he’s good at pretending Lance isn’t dying right now. 

“I, uh, like, in life?” _Nice._

Hunk lets out a soft chuckle from the backseat. 

“I’m doing a masters in library science.”

“Fascinating,” Curtis comments warmly. 

Adam hums. “That’s nice. What are the job prospects like in the field?”

Holy shit, if this isn’t the strangest pseudo-’meet the parents’ moment of Lance’s short life — not to mention the fact that, as someone who’s studied the humanities for god knows how long, that particular question is one of the most goddamn abrasive things he hears on a near-weekly basis. The van suddenly feels particularly small and cramped as it drives along toward the highway. 

“They’re, uh… good? Like, I have a job already. At the Westmount library, in the kids section.”

“That’s wonderful, Lance,” Shiro says, kicking Adam’s foot not-so-subtly. Ok, cool. Good to know Shiro’s on his side.

The back of Keith’s knuckles brush his own, where they’re rested on his thigh. Lance turns to him, and they lock eyes — Keith’s own trying to convey _something_ that he can nearly decipher. Even though his face isn’t doing much, something about the softness of Keith’s gaze definitely grounds him in this moment. It’s almost like he could tell Lance was experiencing an internal freak-out. 

Well, it’s not like Keith’s the most socially adept person either. It’s not like he doesn’t experience his own share of anxieties. And it’s enough to ease some of the stress of being interrogated by the surrogate family of the person he’s dating in a cramped car with his own best friends in the back seat, no doubt looking on intently at the spectacle. Lance doesn’t exactly care as much about that now, in this moment. Not while Keith’s fingers are slowly entwining with his. 

Holy _shit_. Lance has never felt so gay. 

Keith smiles, super subtle and distinctly _Keith_ , and Lance kind of changes his mind about this whole thing. It’s kind of awesome, now that he thinks about it. He doesn’t really mind one bit. 

. . .

The rest of the car ride went off without a hitch. They ended up stopping off at a gas station after nearly an hour of driving, giving Lance an excellent excuse to empty his bladder without needing to make a point of asking Shiro to pull over. Hunk stocks them up on snacks, like the sweet sweet mama hen he is, and the rest of the drive was a surprisingly pleasant mix of SmartFood cheddar popcorn and idle conversation, mostly between Matt, Pidge and Hunk. They discuss plans for an ongoing D&D campaign, and Curtis becomes surprisingly invested after a bit, super interested in joining. 

They meet up with Allura, Lotor, Coran, and the girl who caught a ride with them at the campsite in Val-David. And honestly, it’s one hell of a picturesque campground — not that Lance has much experience in this department, aside from a single trip to Tadoussac — but they’re right by the lake and surrounded by a mix of evergreens and maples, and it’s everything that he could have hoped for. 

The atmosphere is a little stilted at first — it’s not like everyone here is super familiar with each other. But as Shiro helps Lotor set up the grill and Coran and Curtis meddle with the firepit, things start to run along smoothly. The sun is setting, and the plan is to get dinner in quickly and settle down for the night, hoping to get a lot of rest before a full day of climbing tomorrow. 

And Lance can’t fucking wait. He’s only been climbing here once before when he was a teenager, and it was one hell of a time. Val-David’s natural rock formations are prime for bouldering, and the weather’s supposed to be great. 

Not to mention the fact that Keith’s really fucking cute right now, clumsily fumbling with their tent in his joggers and loose red flannel shirt. His hair’s falling in his eyes, and he keeps blowing it out of the way with adorable little huffs. 

“Can you give me a hand?” he grunts, clearly annoyed. Oh shit — right, Lance is supposed to be helping. 

“Shit, sorry babe! One sec —” 

He jogs over crouching down and picking up a couple tent poles like he knows what he’s doing (he doesn’t), and kind of starts to try sticking them together before noticing that Keith is — 

He’s not doing much. He’s just standing there, blushing and staring. 

“Uhh —”

“Hey! Can we get a hand with our tent later, _babe_?” Pidge snickers from far off where she and Matt are setting up their space. 

Lance stiffens, heat rushing to his face. Okay, so the pet name thing sort of just slipped out without warning. _That’s_ definitely not something they’ve done before. He’s pretty sure that “buddy” is the only real term of endearment Lance has thrown Keith’s way thus far, because he has honest to god _no fucking clue_ how to address a _guy_ in a dating context. 

“Babe” kind of works though. It’s… not bad at all, in his own opinion at least. He’s got no clue what Keith’s thinking right now. 

“I, uh — can… can I call you that?” Lance whispers, wide eyed. Keith crouches down to join him, avoiding his eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ll… get used to it.”

“Oookay, that doesn’t sound good —”

“I liked it.” 

He shoots Lance one of those barely-there smiles, and Lance himself might just combust on the spot. Alright, then. So that’s a thing they’re doing. 

. . .

“Good to see you both, my boys!” Coran cheers, greeting both Keith and Lance as they arrive around the fire pit. It’s kind of weird being around both of them, Lance thinks, since he _knows_ Keith and Coran talk about him during their gym cleaning sessions. A little while ago, when Lance dropped that he sometimes does the whole cleaning thing as well, Keith seemed just a _tad_ worried that Coran might have slipped something embarrassing. Lance _may_ have left it at that, because he’s completely weak for making Keith flustered. Oh well. Point for Lance. 

“Have you met Shay? I don’t believe she knows anyone here, maybe both of you could make her feel welcome.”

“Sure thing!” Lance grins, scanning their surroundings for that girl that came up in the other car. 

They find her single-handedly carrying a cooler back from the vans like it weighs nothing. Dang. Girl’s strong. 

“Need a hand with that?” Keith asks, apparently unaware that she seems to be handling things perfectly fine on her own. 

“I’m good!” she replies warmly, setting down the cooler by the grill. She’s undeniably cute, Lance will give her that, in a _can crush him with a pinky_ kind of way. He also has a lot of respect for people who don’t skimp on looking deliberately good while camping — evidenced by her neatly-set blunt bangs and bob and thick hoop earrings. 

Keith nudges him, obviously aware that Lance has been sort of checking her out. Dude’s definitely used to it at this point, but it’s not like Lance can help it. People are beautiful! Sue him!

Turns out, one quick look to the grill is enough to catch Hunk doing the exact same thing he's doing. _Ooooh_ , Lance thinks, raising an eyebrow in his friend’s direction. Hunk catches it, blushing and diverting his attention back to the grill. 

“Hey, Shay — I think Hunk might need a hand with the sausages.”

Hunk shoots him another look, sweating profusely. _Ha_ , sweet revenge for the whole ice cream with Keith and his mom thing a little while back. It’s not like Hunk’s meddling didn’t work out in Lance’s favour, so it’s only fair to repay him. 

“They’re really big sausages, not sure Hunk can handle them on his own.”

Keith snorts. Well, that’s somewhat validating.

“Uh, okay?” Shay giggles, quirking an eyebrow, before walking over to join a clearly very shook Hunk at the grill. _Damn_ , she’s super cute. Hunk better not blow this, Lance is officially personally invested.

“What are you trying to do?” Keith whispers, leaning against his side. Lance shakes his head, grinning. 

“Payback,” he replies simply. From the look Keith gives him, he figures he gets him just fine.

. . .

“Okay, never have I ever peed in public.”

Apparently a hearty dinner and couple beers was enough to turn this group of adults who barely know one another into a gaggle of teens playing “never have I ever” around a campfire. Lotor is the only person not participating — clearly extremely confused by everything that’s unfolding.

It’s pretty nice, actually. Lance may not be super familiar with many of the faces around the fire, but everyone seems to be in fine spirits. 

“You’ve totally peed in public,” Lance interjects, pointing his beer at Pidge. “We’ve peed _together_.”

“I was faking it! I can’t _go_ when I’m around people, it’s weird. 

“Good luck for this weekend, then,” Matt snorts. 

Pidge rolls her eyes. “There’s a bathroom literally two minutes that way.”

A few chuckles erupt from the circle, and Lance notices Coran take a sip of his beer just as Lance does the same. 

“Coran! I’m scandalized!”

“Alfor and I went on a six month-long hitch hiking trip through Ethiopia back in uni! We had to rough it more times than not, I’m afraid —”

Allura holds up a hand. “I would really, _really_ rather not think about you and my father in that context.”

“It’s only a natural part of life, my child.”

“Keith’s turn!” Pidge yells, nearly bouncing in her seat. Oh, this is gonna be _sweet_ , Lance has been looking forward to this for what feels like hours now. 

“Uuuuh,” Keith grunts, eyeing Shiro with a slightly kniving look. “Never have I ever… been to a bathhouse?”

Shiro, Adam, and Curtis stiffen, avoiding all eye contact as they sip their beers. Matt cackles, taking a sip of his own.

Pidge gasps. “What the FUCK, MATT?!” 

“Surprise, I have sex!”

“NO YOU DON’T —”

In the corner of Lance’s eye, he catches Lotor subtly blushing and taking a sip. 

“OOOH, I saw that, buddy!” 

“I…” Lotor stutters as all eyes around the circle turn towards him. “I _may_ have had a… wild youth.”

“They still go every couple weeks,” Keith points out, gesturing at Shiro and Curtis. “No one’s judging.”

Allura laughs, shaking her head before getting up and stretching. “This was _lovely_. I haven’t laughed quite this much in a long while. But I think I’m spent for the night.”

“Agreed!” Coran chimes in, getting up as well. “It was lovely to get to know you all, but we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow!”

Everyone seems on board with calling it a night, but the moment everyone starts getting up and cleaning up, Lance’s heart starts racing in his chest. Because he’d been kind of preoccupied with all the socializing, and sort of forgot about the… _sex_ thing. 

Suddenly, it’s all he can think about. It’s so all-consuming that Lance barely registers the fact that Hunk and Shay stay behind by the fire as everyone leaves. He still notices, obviously, but files it away to address later because he’s got more pressing issues to deal with — namely, the fact that he and Keith are heading back toward the tent. And that they’re walking next to one another closely, their upper arms pressing together — which doesn’t seem like much, but Lance knows by now that it’s kind of Keith’s equivalent to hand holding. 

They’re oddly silent by the time they get to the tent. It’s not like they’re lacking conversation fuel — Lance could easily make fun of him for any number of the things he learned about him around the fire earlier (including but not limited to when Keith was arrested for shoplifting condoms, when he got a boner in a jiu-jitsu class, or when his tongue piercing got wildly infected and had to be removed. Shame.) He can’t seem to think of anything concrete to bring up, though, not while the air around them is getting increasingly tense. It’s not a bad sort of tension. But it’s there.

They brush their teeth side by side outside the tent, and Lance insists that Keith take part in his skincare routine. After using a couple biodegradable cleansing wipes, they find themselves seated on the camping mattress inside the tent illuminated by a dim hanging flashlight, as Lance delicately applies moisturizer to Keith’s face. It’s entirely because Lance doesn’t trust him to be gentle with his own skin, and definitely _not_ because he wants an excuse to touch his face. It’s not like he even _needs_ an excuse at this point, since they’re —

Whatever they are. _Intimate. Dating. Boyfriends-adjacent._

The sound of the “B-word” echoes in his head after he thinks it, his thumbs massaging cream up the bridge of Keith’s nose and back down around his brows and temples. His eyes are closed (thank _god_ ), and he doesn’t seem aware of the way Lance gulps down his own fears as his fingers ghost over Keith’s skin in little circles, feeling the slightly rough beginnings of stubble on his jaw. Lance’s gaze flits over his closed eyes — where Keith’s long, dark eyelashes flicker lightly on his cheekbones — and he feels his heart rate double. 

His anxieties from today seem so much less important now. It’s hard to even think about them while he’s got Keith in his bed, in his hands, faces only inches apart. They’re replaced by a different kind of nervousness. 

“Lance?” Keith whispers, his eyes fluttering open. Their eyes lock almost immediately, and Lance lets his hands fall slowly into his lap. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re quiet,” Keith says matter of factly, tilting his head like a cat. “It’s weird.”

“No I’m not,” Lance sputters, immediately aware of how fucking dumb that sounds, given the fact that he’s definitely been pretty tight-lipped ever since they broke off from the group. 

“Something wrong?”

“No.”

“ _Lance —_ ”

“Nothing’s wrong, seriously,” Lance interrupts, taking Keith’s hands in his. He looks at them, pale fingers entwined with his own darker, longer ones, and can’t help but feel a little out of practice. Sure, they’ve slept together and cuddled and given each other orgasms, but Lance feels like he’s still learning how to touch Keith in that distinct way reserved for people you want to actually… share your life with. If that makes any sense. 

“I haven’t…” Lance starts, his mouth going dry before he can finish. He squeezes his eyes shut, gripping Keith’s hands firmly. “I haven’t had, like… sex with someone in a long time.”

“Uuhh.” Keith raises an eyebrow. “But we’ve —”

“I mean, like… you _know_. You know what I mean.”

Judging by the blush creeping over Keith’s features, he definitely knows. Lance isn’t entirely sure if this is even the best way to bring it up, but he’s been thinking it about it so loudly it’s impossible to ignore. 

“I just — I’ve been thinking —”

“Yeah,” Keith interrupts. “Yeah, no, I —”

“Wow, we’re good at this,” Lance snorts before he can help himself. And sure enough, they descended into a fit of hushed chuckles, tension leaving their bodies in waves. 

“I’m down, is what I’m trying to get at,” Lance says eventually, shaking his head and grinning.

“I, uh, brought stuff…” Keith says, trailing off. He nudges his head at his backpack. 

Lance laughs. “Same, dude. I think I over prepared.” He leans forward, resting their foreheads together. Keith nudges their noses against one another, gently letting go of Lance’s fingers to drag his hands up his neck and into his hair before pulling him in. 

The fingers digging into Lance’s scalp send tingly shockwaves down his neck, the press of Keith’s lips warm and wet on his own. Though it’s all starting to feel more familiar, Lance is only enjoying it more and more as Keith takes up more space in his life. He loves every moment of it — like the way Keith’s hair is always fighting to escape its bun no matter what he does, and the way his eyes go dark and glassy when they topple into the mattress, legs tangling together. 

But not only is Keith absolutely gorgeous — that’s been established ten times over at this point — he’s also kind, and kind of sassy, and incredibly thoughtful and Lance is kind of obsessed with him but, like, in a healthy way, you know? And all of these mingling feelings just sort of motivate him to want to make Keith feel _really fucking good_ as if to show him exactly how _much_ he’s appreciated. 

And… woah, okay. Sex has always meant many things to Lance. But it’s rare for it to mean _that_. 

Keith pushes him onto his back, whipping a leg over and straddling him. He mouths up Lance’s neck, trailing soft licks and kisses under his jaw and behind his ear. Lance’s hands splay out against the back of his flannel shirt, running down until they find his ass. They’re trying to keep quiet — it’s not like they’re really and truly alone in the woods here — but their breaths are growing hard and heavy anyway. 

“I wanna ride you,” Keith whispers, grinding down. Lance moans lowly, pulling him in further. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah, _please_.”

They’re still wearing clothes for some reason, but they remedy that pretty quick. There’s a lot of scrambling around in the tight space of their tent, throwing shirts and sweats and underwear aside and reaching over to dig for lube. It’s kinda charming, in a clumsy sort of way, and everything they’re doing has an echo of that distinct feel of being young and making love in secret. It’s thrilling, is what it is. It feels incredibly special. 

-  
Things are way different than that first encounter they had. This time, Lance works to open Keith up with his mouth, tongue, and fingers. There’s a lot more care in everything they’re doing — like they’re a team, or something. Which is kinda wild in its own way. 

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith whispers, somewhere between a moan and a sigh the moment he slips in a third finger. And that’s it. That’s all it takes for Lance to lose his entire fucking mind. 

He can’t wait much longer after that. Not when Keith looks so flushed and ready beneath him, one hand clenched around his bicep, fingers and nails digging into the skin. Keith shudders, his dick deliberately untouched as Lance curls his own fingers _just_ enough for him to feel it. 

“You’re _so_ good, ah — _fuck_ ,” Keith grits out, his free hand shooting out to clutch the sleeping bag beneath them. “I’m ready, I’m good —”

He doesn’t need to say it twice. Lance is prepped and ready, gloved and lubed and pulling his fingers out not a moment later. Keith takes a moment to breathe and collect himself before he gently guides Lance onto his back, positioning himself on top once again. 

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m so ready,” Lance whispers, running his hands up Keith’s thighs and onto his hips. “Fuck me.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, do you wanna switch places? Or —”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Uuuhh, noo, no, not what I meant —”

“Really?” Keith smirks. “Cause I can do you, if you want.”

“Nooo, it’s — ignore that, pleaAAAH —”

Keith’s hands tense on Lance’s pecs as he sinks down, taking half of him in one movement. Mouth parted, the ghost of that fucking self-satisfied smirk still on his face, Keith adjusts himself and lets out a few short breaths. “You — you gotta keep quiet —”

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Lance pants, running a hand over Keith’s abdomen as it clenches and relaxes, muscles twitching as he accommodates the length inside of him. Gaze trailing upward and locking with Keith’s glassy eyes, Lance breathes — everything feeling warm and wet and soft as Keith starts riding him in earnest. He’s not really sure how quiet they’re being, at this point. He’s not really sure he cares, either.

When Lance grabs onto two handfuls of ass, he bends his legs and starts sharing the work, fucking into Keith like he’s been dreaming of since they started this whole thing. And Keith — clearly a little winded from all the effort — falls forward, loose strands of hair forming a curtain around them as he delivers kiss after kiss and lick after lick into Lance’s mouth. Eventually, they just stay there with their foreheads pressed against one another, chasing nothing but friction and each other’s breaths. Lance surrenders himself to all of it, losing track of time and space.

“ _Shit_ ,” he pants, chin jutting upward and eyes closing. “ _Fuck —_ ”

“Touch me,” Keith whispers, grabbing his right hand and placing it on his dick. “Come on.”

It’s too much. The moment he grabs ahold of Keith, Lance feels him clench around his dick. It’s enough to send him soaring, watching with awe as it only takes four or so strokes for Keith to spill between them, releasing laboured breaths as his movements grow more and more erratic. He pulls off afterward, eliciting a whine from Lance, and quickly removes the condom to get him in his mouth. It’s unexpected, but _so good_ , and Lance comes seeing stars.  
-

“ _Fucking hell,_ ” Lance mutters between laboured breaths afterward, splayed out on the sleeping bag. Keith is quick to join him, discarding the condom into their makeshift trash bag. He slides over Lance’s body and between his legs, running his mouth along his neck. 

“Good?” Keith asks hesitantly. Wow, what an _idiot_.

“Keith are you serious right now?” Lance asks, laughing. “That was fucking _awesome_ , are you nuts?.”

He runs his hands around Keith’s waist, hugging him tight on top of him. Keith chuckles against the column of his neck. 

“You’re good at that.”

“No you,” Lance retorts, grinning. He rolls Keith over until they’re both on their sides, facing one another. “We should pee.”

“Nooooo,” Keith whines, burying his face back into Lance’s neck. “Don’ wanna move.”

Lance chuckles. “Okay, well _I’m_ gonna clean us up and then pee, and you can do whatever you want.”

He takes a couple baby wipes from where they’re lying in the corner and quickly drags them down his torso before reaching over to do the same to Keith. It’s quiet and intimate, and Lance can’t help but feel very _seen_ probably because… well, Keith’s been sort of eyeing him lazily, a small happy smile etched into his face. 

“What?” Lance asks, grinning. 

“I’m… really happy we’re together.”

The wind knocks itself out of Lance’s lungs, his throat going dry. What the _fuck_? Who gave Keith the right to be a goddamn _romantic_ all of a sudden, holy shit. 

He has absolutely no clue what to do with that. Especially right now, with a gross baby wipe in his hand and a growing ball of tension in his chest. Lance has got to say _something_ but his mind is kinda betraying him, preventing any coherent thoughts from forming. His eyes are probably bugging out right now, and that knowledge is only adding this fucking mess. 

“Ha,” Keith adds, his soft smile morphing into that familiar self-satisfied smirk. “I win.”

“ _What_?!” Lance spits, trying not to get too loud.

“You’re flustered. I win.” Keith brings his hands behind his head, lounging comfortably. “Point for Keith.”

“You — _you fucker!_ I hate you!” Lance grits out, swatting Keith’s arm and poking him in the armpit. Keith only cackles, squirming out of reach. Everything sort of descends into the least mature form of play wrestling Lance has ever experienced. He’s almost got Keith’s writhing figure pinned down to the ground before a loud, aggressive whisper interrupts them.

“ _GO TO BED, YOU GAY TURDS!_ ” a harsh voice that sounds suspiciously like Pidge projects from a vague distance. They freeze, chests heaving as they face one another, Lance pinning Keith’s arms down over his head. 

Keith chuckles softly up at him, his eyes bright in the dim light of the tent. “Let’s pee.”

“Heh, sure,” Lance concedes, pulling back to sit on his haunches. The silence that follows as they throw on whatever clothes they find to go take a leak in the woods is different than before they settled down for the night — this silence is warm, comfortable and easy. And kind of beautiful — as weird of a descriptor that is for peeing in the woods next to the person you’re dating. 

Once they’ve settled and said their goodnights and kissed one final time, Lance lies awake on his side, Keith’s bare torso and lap against his back, arm loosely wrapped around his waist. And he finds he can’t really sleep, because so much of what’s happening feels kind of insanely real in a terrifying sort of way. It’s not a bad kind of terrifying, but it’s a lot. Because no matter how much Lance doesn’t want to stress himself out over the future or the past or whatever, he can’t help but know where this is going. 

They’re pretty much in a relationship. It’s kinda hard to deny that at this point. And _that_ means that over time, Keith’s gonna learn more and more about Lance. And the things he wants to keep to himself will probably start spilling out. 

Because the thing is, when your first and only relationship ended because someone didn’t want to be around to take care of you when things got bad, how are you supposed to open up about the bad stuff with a new person? When are you supposed to bring that up? When things are going good, like they are now, or when…

Lance squeezes his eyes shut, the knowledge that his illness is an endless cycle of good and bad heavy on his mind. 

Keith hums in his sleep, nosing at the back of Lance’s neck and tightening his arm around him. It’s enough to interrupt his thoughts from spiraling further, thank god. 

Lance takes a deep breath, forcing himself to think of the calm lake, the softness of the sleeping bag and the weight of Keith’s arm around him. He counts backward from ten, employing all the meditation exercises in his memory bank for when sleeping is hard and his brain doesn’t want to shut off, and eventually feels himself drifting. And though it might feel like postponing the inevitable, Lance decides that this isn’t the kind of thing he needs to deal with just yet. 

They’ve got time, Lance knows that now. Because knowing what he knows about Keith, he doesn’t think he’s the type to take off and run. Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: This fic is getting long, and it's gonna get longer. I think I'm gonna need at least a couple more chapters to get everything out, so the chapter count is gonna be changing again. 
> 
> I'm considering writing a oneshot set in the Back to the Wall verse about how Shiro and Adam met Curtis. If any of you are into that, let me know and I'll use your interest as fuel to motivate me to actually write it lol.
> 
> I'm so happy to be finally getting this out, you have no idea. Mainly bc I'm very excited for the second part of the climbing trip! I have barely any juice left in me to ramble in the ANs right now, but I hope y'all enjoyed this update. And I'm wishing all of y'all a smooth return to school/good work week/whatever it is you're doing in life. Have a wonderful week, folks.


	11. Camping and Climbing pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s… yeah, parents make mistakes. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.”
> 
> Pidge and Lance share some sort of capital “L” _Look_ that Keith really doesn’t understand. It’s a knowing look, though. It’s like they’re talking with just their eyes — a skill that’s remained elusive to Keith for as long as he can remember. With people, that is. Kosmo not included.
> 
> Lance chuckles, shaking his head at his lap and leaning back in his chair. “Guys, it’s too early for this shit. We gotta save this soul-bearing talk for late night skinny-dipping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *busts through the door*
> 
> I'M BACK! Five assignments, four weeks and maybe one ovarian cyst later, here is a big girthy thicc 14k chapter. I considered splitting this up but honestly, I wrote this entire thing as one chapter, so it's gonna stay that way. Take breaks if you need to, drink water, eat a snack, this fic won't go anywhere! (provided I don't accidentally delete it again. If i do, just lmk lol)
> 
> One thing to note, there are a LOT of POV switches here. Just so everyone's aware, when I use a ". . ." as a break between scenes, it's a time skip but the POV character stays the same. When I use a "~~~" it's a POV change, usually with a time skip. I just wanted to reiterate that so no one gets confused reading this! 
> 
> CW for the sex, sandwiched between dashes as per usual. There's one short paragraph, and then later, a long scene. The sex scene in this is quite plot important, so I'm going to add a tldr: in the end notes that you can read if you want to skip the smut but don't want to miss out on the story. Also slight CW for some discussions about parents having a difficult time understanding/accepting their kids' choice in partners. 
> 
> also mild CW for discussions of bdsm.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading this fic. I'm infinitely grateful. Sending big virtual hugs your way <3

The heat from the sun overhead beats down through the tent onto Lance’s eyelids, rudely reminding him that he’s definitely not at home right now and _definitely_ outside. It’s _fucking hot_ — which makes a lot of sense, given the time of year and stellar weather forecast for this weekend. Thank god they fell asleep naked and kicked off their blankets overnight — Lance doesn’t really want to imagine how hot and sticky he’d be otherwise. 

Speaking of _they_... 

Keith’s absent when Lance rolls over, pawing at his side of their camping mattress. He reluctantly blinks his eyes open, greeted by nothing but some rumpled blankets and an empty pillow at his side. _Huh._ Usually Keith’s the one that sleeps like a fucking house cat on a cocktail of Ambien and white wine, needing at the very least an hour of extra z’s before he joins Lance among the living. Damn, Lance was kinda down to get some make outs in before facing the rest of their climbing squad. 

As if on cue, a familiar man-bun’ed face pops into view, pulling back the little rain flap over the mesh window of their tent. 

“Good morning,” Keith simpers, wearing what looks like an old band t-shirt with cutoff sleeves that’s doing an excellent job of showing off his very defined delts. _Damn_ , Lance banged that. Score. 

“You left me _alone_ ,” Lance whines, covering his face with Keith’s pillow. 

“Coran and Allura wanted us up at eight,” Keith responds, sounding incredibly too reasonable. “Your phone alarm went off, but you just slept through it.”

“Since when do _you_ wake up to alarms?” Lance retorts, throwing the pillow aside. 

Keith raises an eyebrow, his expression flattening. “Since it’s fucking hot in this tent and you’re a living furnace.”

“Hey! YOU’RE a furn —”

“Get up, Lance,” Keith interrupts, pulling back and returning the rain fly to its rightful spot. Wooow, cold. 

He really should get up, though, because if the time on his phone is correct, it’s nearly 8:30 AM and they need to get moving. Dang. Lance feels a tad guilty for probably sleeping through most of breakfast prep. 

After a quick facial cleanse and moisturizer application, Lance throws on a light tank top and some comfy shorts before heading out toward their common area around the fire pit, where Hunk and Pidge are already putting on sunscreen. 

“Morning, buds! How’s it go —” he starts, before stopping in his tracks at the sight of Pidge’s widening eyes and Hunk’s deepening blush. “Uhhh, wha —”

“Holy shit, were you _mauled in your sleep?_ ”

“What?”

“Duuuude,” Hunk chimes in, raking his eyes all over Lance’s frame. “It looks like it _hurts_.”

“What does?” Lance implores, holding his arms out in front of him and —

Oh. _Oh._

A very obvious hand-shaped bruise wraps around his left bicep — a mottled mix of red and purple especially dense at where Keith’s fingers dug in _hard_ during their nice round of fingering last night. 

“Aaaaah, haha, this thing?” Lance chuckles, voice all wobbly and squeaky as he points a shaky finger at the contusion. “It’s nothing!”

“Wha —” Pidge squints. “Shit, I didn’t even see that one.”

“What?!” 

Lance spins around, beelining back to their tent not a second later. Once there, he rummages through his bag, silently praying that he remembered to pack his little compact mirror. 

He did, thankfully. But the relief is short lived, because the moment he opens it, Lance’s breath is knocked straight out of his lungs. 

Because his neck is _littered_ in hickeys. 

“KEEEEEEEEEEEITH!” 

“Yes?” Keith asks innocently, poking his head in the tent a second later.

“LOOK WHAT YOU DID!” Lance yells, gesturing wildly at his neck. “Are you a LEECH?! Or a VAMPIRE?!”

“What?” Keith asks, brow furrowed. “There’s like… three of them.”

Okay, fair point. Maybe “littered” was an exaggeration. Still, though, they look dark as hell. 

“And my ARM, TOO!”

“Huh?” The moment Keith’s wandering eyes catch on that particular bruise, his face reddens. “Oh… shit I didn’t notice that one.”

“How did this happen?!” Lance yells. Seriously though, it’s not like he’s super accustomed to being all marked-up post sex. It’s not like he hasn’t had hickeys before — it’s just that Keith’s brand of hickey seems to be extra unsightly and pretty painful to the touch compared to what he’s used to. Not to mention the fact that his climbing-strength grip is clearly to blame for the handprint on his arm. 

“I have some, too —”

“Are there more I should know about!? Because —” Lance stops himself, squinting. “What do you mean _you_ have some? I don’t see any.”

Keith sighs, shuffling inside the tent and zipping it shut. He rolls onto his side facing away from Lance, and pulls his shorts and boxers just below his ass cheeks. 

“Wha —”

Lance’s breath catches in his throat. Not only because Keith has a great ass, but thanks to the fingerprint-sized bruises tainting his smooth, pale skin. 

“Oh.”

“I also have these,” Keith continues, the ghost of a smirk dancing across his face as he rolls onto his back and lowers his shorts further, revealing what looks like a semi-visible dark mark on his inner thigh. “You have bony hips.”

Jesus _fuck_. How hard were they going at it?

“Is this normal for dude sex?” Lance whispers, eyes wide. Like, don’t get him wrong, this is all _definitely_ hot as hell. But his bewilderment is kind of winning over that right now. 

Keith shrugs. “Dunno.”

Alright. That doesn’t help anything. 

“Did I hurt you?” Keith asks, suddenly full of concern. He pulls up his shorts and sits up, cross-legged, as if being pantless would be inappropriate for this kind of conversation. “Or did you not want… I didn’t really realize I was doing it, in the moment. I’m sorry — ”

“Noo, no, no that’s not —” Lance grips Keith’s hands in an attempt to wipe the concern off his face. “It’s okay, we didn’t realize, and it’s honestly… it’s really hot.”

Keith tilts his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathes, cracking a small smile. He raises a hand to Keith’s neck, thumb along his jaw. “It’s really fucking hot that we can like… _see_ what we did to each other and that’s… kinda the problem.”

“Huh?”

“The triad’s gonna see, too.”

It takes a second, but when the words sink in Keith’s eyes grow large with panic. A shocked expression of pure horror creeps onto his face, his cheeks reddening by the second. 

“ _Shit,_ ” Keith croaks, voice impossibly weak. “Did you pack a turtleneck?”

“No, Keith, I didn’t pack a turtleneck for our early-July climbing excursion.”

“Concealer?”

“No —”

“Maybe Shay has —”

“Not all brown people have the same skin tone, also _I literally don’t know her_ —”

“Shit.” Keith sits back, running his hands down his face. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean it like —”

“Hey, babe —” 

Lance grips his shoulders, their eyes meeting each other. Something about right now is ringing some bells. Honestly, this isn’t the first time one of them has started freaking out over something innocuous — it’s sort of becoming a theme, at this point. Thing is, it’s usually Lance that does the freaking. 

It’s not like Keith hasn’t had his moments. Lance literally held him while he bawled after a particularly stressful day. He knows he can get panicky, though he’s never _quite_ seen it firsthand, but Lance has been around both his own anxiety and Hunk’s and Rachel’s and Veronica’s and his Ma’s long enough to get what’s happening. 

Lance might be absolutely shit at dealing with his own issues. But he’s good with his loved ones. And… yeah. Keith’s counted among them, too. 

“It’s okay. So what if they know we banged? They probably did too, last night.”

“It’s not that,” Keith mumbles, shaking his head. He sniffles a little, averting his eyes and wiping his nose quickly with his wrist. “It’s… _fuck_ —”

Woah. Alright, so Lance didn’t see _this_ coming. 

“They’re gonna think I hurt you —”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Lance drags a hand up, cupping Keith’s cheek. He leans in, catching his eye once again to ground him. “I _loved_ everything about last night. I was just surprised, okay? You’re… stronger than probably anyone I’ve ever slept with and it’s _really hot_ to me that you could probably crush my head with your thighs.”

That one earns him a short laugh. Damn, okay. Progress. 

“I really like it, is what I’m saying. And it’s _our_ business what we do when we’re together, not the triad’s. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

Keith squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling all slow and controlled. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“I can keep reminding you that I’m not hurt all day, I don’t mind.” 

He wraps his arms around Keith slowly, cupping the back of his head and pulling him in. Keith sighs into it, his own hands snaking around Lance’s waist. 

“It’s only like, 9 AM Keith. We can’t start freaking out too early or everyone will know we’re complete messes.”

“Heh,” Keith chuckles, nosing at the crook of his neck. “Ok, I’ll save it for later.”

They stay like that for a minute, breaths nearly-synchronizing as Keith comes down. Lance can’t help but kick himself for mentioning the triad at all — really, he just thought it’d be kinda cringey and embarrassing that Keith’s brother/dad person might see the naughty remnants of what they got up to last night. But clearly, Keith was worried about something… different. What, though, Lance isn’t sure. 

It’s okay though. _They’re_ okay, and that’s what matters. 

“Breakfast?” Lance suggests, pulling back a little. “I’m starving.”

“Okay,” Keith nods, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s do it.”

~~~

Keith does end up feeling better. Kinda shockingly, considering how badly he was teetering on the brink of full-on panic earlier, but better nonetheless. He’s still kind of in his head at breakfast, opting mainly to keep quiet and “listen” to the excited chatter around him rather than actually participating. But as he munchess away on the fried egg and toast Hunk made, he can’t really help his thoughts from fixating on one very specific thing that’s been kind of haunting him for weeks, now. 

Lance still hasn’t seen the hole in his bedroom wall. 

Hell, Keith completely forgot about it for a hot minute. After covering it with a very nondescript poster for some Hitchcock movie he’s never seen the morning after he and Lance stumbled into his place together for the first time, he hasn’t given it much thought. But this morning’s little incident with the bruises and everything kind of reminded him of a _lot_ of baggage he’s been tucking away for some time now. 

Thing is, if there’s anything likely to set off his brain problems, it’s the thought of losing control and hurting the people he loves. Because he’s been there before. And it was the absolute worst thing that’s ever happened in his life. 

_Shiro’s still here_ , he reminds himself, zoning out completely from the conversation around him. _Shiro didn’t leave, even after everything._

It’s not like he physically hurt him — he never laid a hand on Shiro, actually. But he _almost_ did. He threatened to, and Keith has to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life. 

Sure, he wasn’t in his right mind. But that doesn’t exactly help. Because if Keith can’t trust himself to keep his shit together, then how is he —

“You good?” Lance whispers, a solid weight against his side. Keith smiles, exhaling some of the tension from his nose as he leans into the touch. 

“Yeah.”

And he is. It’s not like it’s going to fix everything, but it’s enough for now. Because as much as Keith’s brain would like to fall down this spiral, Keith himself is still very excited about climbing today. And he doesn’t really want to ruin that. 

“So, guys,” Shiro pipes up from where he’s seated on the next log over. He flits a very casual gaze over Lance’s neck and arm, smirking. “Have fun last night?”

Lance reddens, pressing his lips together.

“Oh _please_ ,” Matt snorts. “As if everyone didn’t hear what you three got up to.”

Okay, so Keith really wishes he had his phone with him right now. Because the identical looks on Shiro and Adam’s faces are absolutely priceless. 

Curtis, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to give a shit. 

“It was actually just them, I passed out early,” he clarifies, spooning some beans into his mouth. “Not that it matters, but… Y’know. Accuracy.”

Allura clears her throat from across the extinguished fire pit, wide eyes blinking a couple times. “You are certainly an… open bunch. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to go over some logistics for today.”

The chatter around them dies down, and Allura stands up, setting her plate aside. 

“The boulders are placed along a hiking trail. We have four crash pads with us, so we could in theory split off into two groups at any point. I was thinking it might be a good idea to explore the trail as one group and try out some of the easier problems, and then in the afternoon, those who wish to attempt higher-grade problems can go with Lotor and I, while Coran will stay with anyone who wishes to stick with V0s to V3s. How does that sound?”

The group nods in approval. 

Allura claps her hands together, beaming. “Wonderful! We’ll set out in fifteen minutes. Remember your shoes and chalk, and refill your bottles beforehand.”

Pidge leans over to where Keith and Lance are sitting, still chewing a mouthful of toast. “I feel like we’re on a field trip.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You and I both know that if Allura wasn’t here to take care of us, we’d _both_ die in the woods today.”

“As if we’re the weakest links here —”

“I’d be fine,” Keith chimes in, swallowing his last bite. “Grew up in the woods.”

“That…” Lance squints. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Dad used to take me fishing when I was like… eight.”

“I thought you grew up in the city?” Pidge asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I did.” Keith swallows his food, sitting back comfortably in his folding chair. “But my Pop used to take me out to Montebello to visit family all the time.” 

This conversation is kind of veering into slightly dangerous territory. Namely because Keith isn’t exactly the greatest at filtering things. But this is a weekend trip, he figures. Nothing like bearing a small handful of dark tidbits from your past around a firepit with a few close friends. 

It’s not like Lance doesn’t know his dad passed away. It was among the facts about their families that got shared maybe the third or fourth time they hung out. Thing is, though, there are still things that Keith hasn’t talked about. And it’s not even 10 AM — he doesn’t wanna be “that guy” that makes things uncomfortable before the day even starts. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Lance won’t ask questions. 

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” Lance grins, his face bright as the morning sun. “Do you still go?”

Well, shit.

“Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause my grandparents tried to get custody of me after my dad died and took my mom to court over it.”

Lance’s face drops, his eyes widening. Well, great. Keith made things weird. 

“Wha… why would they do that?”

“Because she was young and they didn’t trust her to raise me.” Keith shrugs, brow furrowing as he drops his gaze to the camping bowl in his lap. “It’s not like she didn’t… fuck up at times. But I feel like everyone’s parents make mistakes.”

“Yeah.” When he looks up, Lance’s gaze is soft, his bottom lip caught under one of his front teeth. Keith forces himself not to keep staring at that for too long. “That’s… yeah, parents make mistakes. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.”

Pidge and Lance share some sort of capital “L” _Look_ that Keith really doesn’t understand. It’s a knowing look, though. It’s like they’re talking with just their eyes — a skill that’s remained elusive to Keith for as long as he can remember. With people, that is. Kosmo not included.

Lance chuckles, shaking his head at his lap and leaning back in his chair. “Guys, it’s too early for this shit. We gotta save this soul-bearing talk for late night skinny-dipping.”

The mention of “late night skinny-dipping” sends an involuntary pulse to Keith’s dick, as if he wasn’t just talking about his family a second earlier. Damn, now he’s picturing what Lance would look like in that sort of context — as if he hasn’t seen him naked and covered in water before. _Fuck_ , it is _way_ too early for his brain to go into full horny teen mode. They’ve got giant rocks to climb.

Pidge snorts. “True.” 

_Right._ Keith and Lance wouldn’t be the only ones invited to the naked water party.

“Don’t invite the triad,” he blurts before he can help it. It’s not like Shiro and Curtis would _assume_ it’s an orgy thing, but… Keith doesn’t want to risk it.

“Don’t worry,” Pidge winks. “Kids only.”

~~~

The regional parc with all the climbing and hiking stuff is only a fifteen minute drive from the campground, and Lance was nearly bouncing in his seat the entire ride. He’s first out the door of Shiro’s van, beelining for the edge of the road, where a near-panoramic view of the town below awaits. 

“It’s so NICE, GUYS!” he yells, stretching his arms out under the sun.

“Hey, uh, do you have your gear, buddy?” Hunk asks, trailing after him. 

Lance’s eyes widen. He pats all over his body, frantically checking for — damn, okay. Apparently not. 

“Fuuuc —” Lance starts, spinning around to see Keith offering him his own bag, arm outstretched. He snorts, rolling his eyes and shoving the drawstring bag to Lance’s chest. 

“You remembered to bring it, we’re fucking with you.”

“AUGH!”

Lance snatches the bag, swinging it over his shoulder dramatically. He points a finger at Keith, leaning into his space. 

“Be nice to your spotter. Your life will be in my hands.”

Keith scoffs, flipping his hair out of his face. “No way you’re spotting me, I’d die.”

“UGH! What, you don’t think I could —”

“No,” Keith interrupts, an insufferable grin making its way onto his face. 

Lance fixes him with a glare, hiking his bag further up on his shoulder. “I will spot you so goddamn hard, you’ll regret ever doubting me.”

“Definitely not. Pidge is spotting me.”

“No I’m not!” Pidge yells over his shoulder. Keith’s cocky facade crumbles in an instant. Ha, point for Lance.

But before he can continue being an insufferable contrarian for no discernable reason, Lance is interrupted by Allura ushering everyone over to where the hiking trail begins. He takes advantage of Keith’s momentary distraction to lean over his shoulder and bring his mouth to his ear, a hand lightly resting on his opposite shoulder. 

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he whispers. But before he can pull away, Keith turns his head to the side, his breath tickling Lance’s lips in a way that feels oddly reminiscent of that first time they kissed by the door to Keith’s apartment. 

It’s… distracting. Enough for Lance to lean in, just enough to press their li —

“Stop making out, we have shit to do!” Pidge calls from only a few metres away, hands on her hips. Lance pulls back, spine straight as a rod. _Right_ , this isn’t a date type deal, they’re literally surrounded by people. 

Keith snickers, turning just enough to face Lance. He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “If you let me die, I’ll kill you.”

“I would never,” Lance states firmly, enunciating every word. He gives Keith’s ass a short squeeze, hoping it’s at least somewhat hidden from view. “Wouldn’t wanna let this go to waste.”

“You’re disgusting,” Keith retorts, flatly. 

“You love it.” 

“I d —”

“GUYS?!” 

Pidge marches over not a moment later, suddenly grabbing them both by the forearm and dragging them toward the rest of their group, already disappearing down the trail. _Shit_ , Lance _so_ didn’t think they were _that_ distracted…

“If I need to fucking babysit you both, I swear to god — I did _not_ ask for this.”

“It’s cool! It’s cool, Pidge —” Lance yanks his arm out of her grasp, still following along the path. “We’ll behave.”

“Yeah,” Keith chimes in, grinning. “We’ll be good.”

“You better,” she huffs. “If not I’ll just leave you to die in the woods.”

“I promise,” Lance adds. He wraps an arm around her small shoulders, squeezing her to his side. “It’s gonna be a great time.”

. . .

So, in fairness, the morning went really well. 

He and Keith did, in fact, behave like grown ass men and not horny teenagers ready to suck face the moment they felt a lick of tension. The climbing part was great too! They mostly tried out some smaller, easier boulders that everyone in the group could do. They took a lot of breaks, though, since they’re gonna be doing this all day. And Lance got to learn more about everyone. 

For instance, Shay’s a geologist, apparently. She like… _loves_ rocks, it’s really cute. She kept spewing random rock tidbits as they hiked along the trail, picking things up and showing them to Hunk before remembering that everyone else was there too. It was honestly fucking cute, and Hunk could barely stop his eyes from trailing after her all morning. Kinda warms Lance’s heart — his best friend is fucking adorable when he’s smitten.

Great morning aside, however, trouble started brewing after lunch, when Lance and Keith joined Allura and Lotor over at the harder boulders. Thankfully Pidge isn’t here — she’d probably rip them both a new asshole. But it’s not like Lance can help it. Because as much as he’s _trying_ to be a good spotter, and to be civilized and not bicker in front of people, Keith’s making things really fucking hard. 

Mainly because he climbs like a lemur that somehow got high on bath salts and decided to take a trip to the moon.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

“Stop distracting me — and — move the fucking mat,” Keith grunts through gritted teeth, hanging from the wall by only one hand. 

“THAT DIDN’T NEED TO BE A DYNO!” Lance shrieks, dragging the crash pad along before he forgets. At this height, though, he can’t really see it helping if Keith made a misstep and accidentally fell. “AND PUT YOUR FEET ON THE WALL!”

“ _Shut up and trust me!_ ,” Keith retorts, voice clearly strained as he hooks a foot onto a ridge and pulls himself up. Ooohh, boy, if Keith dies today, Lance is gonna kill him.

He doesn't seem to be moving anywhere, though. In fact, after a couple pathetic grunts and a feeble attempt to push himself up further, Keith calls it and comes back down. At least he downclimbed a little, instead of just falling like he had on his last attempt. That nearly gave Lance a heart attack.

Before Lance can give him another earful about being safe, he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. Allura comes into view, smiling and squeezing him a little. 

“I think you should switch places with Lotor.”

“Huh?” Lance shakes his head. “Nah, it’s cool, I got it —”

“It wasn’t a question, Lance.” _Damn_ , Allura can be authoritative when she wants to be. Lance is suddenly terrified of crossing her. 

She looks over at Keith on the mat, listening on as he shakes out his forearms. “Lotor will spot you from now on.”

Keith opens his mouth, probably to protest, but Lotor is there in an instant, towering over all of them. He offers Keith a hand to get up, his face completely neutral. Keith furrows his brow, taking it. 

Honestly, Lance is kinda relieved. He’s been sweating more from spotting Keith than actually climbing, and a break might be just the thing he needs. 

Allura leads him over to the small camping mat they’d laid down for resting. She offers him an energy ball from the tupperware they’ve been carrying around. 

“Take one, it will help.”

“Help with what?” 

She chuckles, nudging the container at him. “I’m a mum, Lance, and in my experience, snacks are a cure-all for foul moods.”

“I’m not in a ‘foul mood,’” Lance retorts maturely, taking a ball anyway. He pops it into his mouth, savouring it. Huh, he hadn’t exactly realized he was hungry. 

Allura shoots him an all-to-knowing look. “See?” 

“Okay fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I feel better.”

She chuckles, leaving the open container between them. “You care about him a lot, it’s very sweet.”

“Hah,” Lance huffs, feeling a slight tug at the corner of his lip. “Am I that obvious?” 

“You both are,” Allura responds, raising an eyebrow. “But when it comes to these things, sometimes they can’t be stopped, really. You just need to let them climb their way.”

“Them?”

“You don’t think I was all fine and dandy about spotting Lotor the first time we climbed together, hm?” Allura giggles, before taking a sip of water from her bright pink metal bottle. “He was about twice as reckless as Keith is now, at the time. And I had to just stand there and watch.”

Lance knits his brows together, staring at his crossed legs. “I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

“He has a lot more control of his body than you give him credit for. Look —” Allura points to where Lotor is moving the mat as Keith scales the wall, swinging himself to catch a tall hold before hanging to catch his breath. “He understands his strength. You can’t land dynamic moves like that without a certain amount of assuredness.”

“And a little bit of a death wish,” Lance adds, leaning back and resting on his elbows. 

“Everything is a risk. Bouldering can be dangerous, and yet, you and I still do it. Were you afraid when you were halfway up that slab earlier?”

Lance furrows his brow, remembering. He’d managed to top a pretty steep slab just before this boulder. It had been the tallest problem today. 

“No.”

“And why?”

“I had a feeling I could do it. I’d done problems like that before.” Lance shrugs. “I climb safer than Keith, though. I take my time.”

“And he seems to tackle things head-on.” She eyes him, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. “Tell me, Lance, have you watched a ton of videos about proper climbing technique?”

He snorts. “Yeah.”

“Well, it shows. Keith on the other hand… he climbs like someone who learned what works for his body through trial and error. And he has a good sense of what works, at that. I don’t think you need to be as worried as you think you ought to be.”

Lance glances over, just in time to witness Keith haul himself over the ledge at the boulder’s top. His breath hitches, a sudden uncontrollable surge of pride taking over. Keith had been working on that problem for the better part of the last hour and a half. 

Keith ambles onto his feet, standing up straight and waving over to Lance from his 6m high vantage point. Unable to help himself, Lance wolf-whistles, applauding him for a few seconds before he turns to walk off. Vaguely aware that he’s grinning, Lance chuckles to himself before settling back into the mat. Allura eyes him, smirking. 

“What?” he pouts. “Are you gonna tell me he managed to do it because he didn’t have me breathing down his neck?”

“No, that’s not what I was thinking,” Allura retorts, shaking her head. “I was just wondering about you both. How long have you been together? ”

“Not long,” Lance says on instinct. “We went on our first date around the end of May, I guess? Or beginning of June, I’m not sure.”

“About a month, then.”

“Yeah. We met at the gym actually.”

“Oh?”

“Well… sorta?” Lance isn’t sure how much he needs to tell her. It’s probably fine, though. Allura’s cool, from what he’s gathered. It’s not like he’s scared of her opinion.

“We hooked up kinda randomly a couple years ago. It was a one-time thing, didn’t even exchange names. Then when we met at the gym, he didn’t remember me.” Lance chuckles, suddenly, at the memory. It’s a far cry from the anger he’d felt at that time, but it’s honestly impossible to be salty at this point. “But we started hanging out more. At the gym, and with friends and then it sorta… happened, I guess.”

Allura smiles, soft and genuinely like she’s truly happy for them. Maybe she is, honestly. She seems like the type who’d appreciate the concept of two people falling for each other at her gym. 

_Falling_... damn, ok. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

“That’s very sweet. Have you met each other’s families?”

Lance stiffens, suddenly feeling a tad claustrophobic. It’s a harmless question, sure, and a typical one. But the thing is, at this point, Lance has just about met everyone important in Keith’s life. And Keith… hasn’t exactly met everyone important to him. Some, but not everyone.

“... Lance?”

“No — I mean, sorta. I’ve met his mom, at the gym. But that was before we were seeing each other. And Shiro, Adam, and Curtis are like his family, so…” his voice trails off a little. 

“Oh, well that’s quite lovely.”

“Yeah.” Lance scrunches up his face. “He’s met my niece and nephew, and my sister. But not… everyone else.”

“Everyone else?”

“Y’know, parents, my three other siblings, the whole extended network of Cuban relatives and Carribbean immigrants that I grew up with.”

“Well,” Allura starts, tilting her head. Her eyes are pretty soft and understanding, like she sort of understands him without really knowing what’s going on in his head. “Things are still new, right? There will be time for that.”

“Yeah…”

“You know,” Allura rearranges her legs to face him. “I know what it’s like to be with someone that my parents might not approve of.”

It’s like a weight drops in his gut. Lance glances up to where Keith is now spotting Lotor, asking questions and pointing at the rock face. He worries his lip, knuckles tensing at his sides where his hands are planted on the ground.

“I don’t mean to pry, and I know we don’t know each other very well. But I’ve quite enjoyed chatting with you at the gym these past couple months, and I love that you are so involved in our activities. Not to mention the fact that Coran is fond of you, and that you always make an effort to talk to Milo when I bring him to work.”

“Yeah?” Lance breathes, turning to face her once again.

“You are someone I would love to get to know better. I don’t get many opportunities to make new friends while running a business and raising a son. But I want you to know that you and Keith are always welcome for dinner at our home. Your friends, Pidge and Hunk as well.”

Lance feels his throat tighten. Damn, he really didn’t expect that this would be the kind of thing he’d get emotional over. It’s like without saying anything, Allura caught on to the fact that there’s a lingering, nagging worry in Lance’s mind that maybe Keith would _not_ be welcome to dinner at his parents’ place. He knows it’s a little silly — they’re insanely hospitable, and would never turn down a guest. But whether or not they would welcome him with open arms is still kind of up for debate. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it… I —” He takes a deep inhale, steadying himself. “You’re right, I don’t know what they’re going to think. I haven’t told them about him yet.”

Allura chuckles, leaning back on her arms. “It took me about a year to tell my father and Coran about Lotor. I had good reason, though. My father and Lotor’s father were good friends for a long time, but they entered business together and had quite a nasty falling out over it. It didn’t seem to be a big deal at first, so we kept it hidden. But once we started talking about moving in together, I wished I had addressed it earlier. It would have… lessened the surprise factor.”

A grin tugs at Lance’s mouth. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s… pretty rough. Did it go well?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Allura recants, chuckling heartily. “It was a disaster. But… things are better now. Our fathers managed to remain civil at the wedding, putting aside their differences for our sake. That was maybe three years ago? They’ve sort of reconciled, though they’re not quite friends. But I think they both realized that supporting us was more important than a decades-old debacle.”

Lance grins. “That’s great to hear.”

“I know it’s probably nothing like your situation. But —”

“It helps. Thanks, Allura.” Lance looks back to Keith, feeling his heart swell. “It’s nothing against Keith. They don’t know him at all, it’s just… I’ve never been with a guy, you know? Like, in a relationship.”

Allura laughs, beaming at him. “Oh I know. Before Lotor, I hadn’t either.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “What?”

“I had two girlfriends before him. One at university, and one in my early 20s. I identify as bisexual, but I always found I preferred women. But not enough to consider myself a lesbian, you know?”

“Holy shit,” Lance whispers. “You’re so fucking cool.”

Allura blushes, giggling. Holy _shit_ she is _so_ the kind of woman that teenaged Lance would have placed on a pedestal and worshipped before he learned that doing that kind of shit gets you nowhere and is pretty weird. 

“Lotor and I met at a rope dojo —”

“WHAT?!” Lance spins to face her, gaping. “WHY ARE YOU GUYS SO COOL?”

“We still go sometimes, if you and Keith ever want to join!” Wow, okay. Lance might literally die today. 

“Uh, yes!” Lance spews without thinking. His brain catches up with him for a moment, suddenly processing everything. “Wait, wait, this isn’t like, an orgy thing, right?”

“God, no,” Allura snorts, shaking her head. “We are happily monogamous at the moment. It’s more of a community for people and couples who enjoy rope play.”

Lance makes a mental note to buy the silk rope in his pink-cherry cart.

“Down.” 

“But yes, do go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Oh, right. It’s cool.” Lance runs a hand through his hair, trying to remember where they left off. “So, yeah. I’ve only really been in a relationship with one person, and my parents _loved_ her, until…”

“... Until?”

“Until it ended. Badly. But she was exactly the kind of girl my parents wanted me to be with, you know? She was smart, friendly, she knew how to carry a conversation and she was studying science. She was… safe. To bring home, you know? I barely gave it any thought.”

Allura squints. “And now?”

“Keith is…” Lance takes a deep inhale. “Keith is great. He’s kind, and hilarious, and I have so much fun with him. But he’s —”

“He’s a good-looking, tattooed bike mechanic with an edgy haircut and a big dog, who has an easier time talking to animals than people,” Allura finishes, smirking. “Which are things that you adore about him, but your more traditional parents might not.”

Lance frowns, feeling incredibly seen. “Yeah.”

“I know what it’s like to an extent, my parents are South-Asian from England. Thankfully, my father is queer as well and I never risked getting misunderstood on that front. But they grew up proper and semi-religious, and tend to judge and misconstrue things as rude when another person doesn’t have the same expectations for social etiquette. For all I love about Lotor, he can be… blunt, sometimes. It took a long time for my parents to grow to appreciate him.”

“... But they did?”

“Yes,” Allura nods. “They could see how much he loved me, and how much he respected me. And that’s what’s most important, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Our parents want what’s best for us, but they grew up with a different opinion of what that is. But ultimately, love and respect are most important, above tattoos, and jobs, and gender, and social skills. Luckily, we live in a very accepting environment here in the city, and some people have it a lot worse than we do.”

“That’s true.”

“But for what it’s worth, I hope your parents see what I see when I look at you and Keith. I may not know you both very well, but I can tell how much you care for one another. Enough to bicker about it and let it get in the way of your climbing.”

Lance inhales sharply, the pressure in his eyes building.

“I… Thank you. That means so much.”

“Anytime, really. What are friends for?”

~~~

They weren’t kidding about the late-night skinny dipping. 

After dinner, all the “real adults” felt super tired and decided to call it a night. Pidge and Matt, however, had other plans. They dragged Keith and Lance off with them toward the lake, while Hunk apparently went off on a walk with Shay. They were cute, honestly. Keith caught them exchanging adorable smiles and spotting each one another all morning, usually slightly away from the rest of the group. Clearly basking in the recent developments in their best friend’s love life, Lance and Pidge had shared more knowing looks than Keith could count since they got back from their excursion. It was really sweet — seeing people so genuinely happy for a friend. Keith wondered if Pidge and Hunk ever feel the same about his thing with Lance. 

The lake is only in view for literally a split second before Lance’s shirt is thrown off. Keith stops, kind of startled as he pulls it over his head, the moonlight reflecting off the divets of his back muscles. Holy _shit_ , this lighting is another level. Keith’s never seen his back like this before. 

“Uh, buddy?” Pidge quips, poking him in the ribs. He whips his head to face her smirk. “Distracted by… _something_?”

“Uh —” Keith grunts, swallowing. He opts to ignore her — too distracted by the promise of joining Lance in the water to give her teasing any mind. Instead, he watches Lance whip off his shorts and boxers in one swoop before stepping over a couple rocks and entering the water. 

He’s kind of shamelessly staring now, he knows. But he can’t exactly help it. Because if the moonlight was doing good things to Lance’s back, the things it’s doing to his ass are nothing short of stellar. Keith watches him wade through the probably slightly cool water before diving in with surprising grace. 

But the real kicker — the thing that _actually_ knocks the air out of Keith’s throat — is the sight of Lance emerging from the water’s surface, shaking out his hair a little and grinning in Keith’s direction. His face is barely visible in the dark, but his smile is bright when his eyes lock with his own. What Keith did to deserve that, he has absolutely no fucking clue. 

“You gonna join us, Skrillex?” Lance yells, leaning back to float lazily on the water. The nickname throws him for a split second — despite knowing Lance is just teasing and that he _literally_ gave Keith his haircut — but he’s over it before he knows it. Because Lance is just such a sight, so carefree and _fun_ and incredible to be around that he could probably ask Keith to do absolutely anything in this moment, and he would hang on his every word. 

Keith chuckles to himself, his cheeks a little warm as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head. He pulls a hand toward the drawstring of his shorts, before catching Pidge looking at him in the corner of his eye. _Right._ They’re not alone here, and Matt’s already in the water too. 

Pidge though — she’s stalling. Unbuttoning her shirt, she fixes Keith with a stare that seems oddly calculating: her eyes narrowing, lip pursing, eyebrow twitching in suspicion. And Keith, suddenly _very_ self conscious, realizes he’s been found out. 

“You’re in love with him,” Pidge mumbles matter-of-factly, like she’s commenting on his outfit. She smiles, softer this time as Keith bites his lip, eyes widening a little in mild panic. Because the thing is, he’s known it himself for a time. He’s not sure when it happened, but it started brewing in the back of his mind somewhere between the hours they spent climbing under the sun and the night in the tent under the stars, when Keith let himself do everything he’d wanted to do to Lance since the minute they started this whole thing. Even though they bicker, and even though sometimes he and Lance do things that annoy the shit out of one another, he can’t help but be grateful. Because he wants everything that comes with being with Lance — both the annoying things, and the amazing things. 

“I, uh —” Keith starts, whatever coherent thought he was having dying out before he can think. _She’s right_ , he tells himself involuntarily, the words bouncing in his head before he can do anything about it. 

Pidge sighs, gaze flitting back to the water where Lance and Matt seem to be chatting idly. “I’m… really happy for you guys, you know? You’re two of my favourite people, and you both deserve it.”

“Deserve what?” Keith breathes dumbly, at a complete loss for anything else to say. 

Pidge chuckles, pulling her button down off and unbuttoning her jean shorts a moment later. “Well, _you_ deserve to be with someone who makes you happy to wake up in the morning. And Lance…” 

Keith bites his lip, a sudden ball of emotion tightening in his throat. 

“Lance deserves someone who looks at him like _that_ ,” she finishes, as if any of that explained _anything_. 

“Like… Like what?” Keith whispers, staring daggers at her as she slips off her shorts. His body kind of remembers where they are and what they’re doing, and he starts undressing his lower half as well. 

“Keith,” she says, fixing him with an unimpressed frown. “You _know_ what I mean. You’re hopelessly in love and it’s disgusting.”

And with that, she saunters off to the water, leaving Keith to stew with that new revelation. 

Love’s weird, Keith decides, because how the fuck is he supposed to bring that up with Lance? They’ve been dating for… okay, at this point Keith actually doesn’t know how long. Time blindness is one of those weird things that came along with the memory lapses and cognitive deficits he started experiencing after the whole brain injury thing. It’s probably been maybe a month… maybe more? Maybe two? 

Is that even enough time? To _really_ get to know someone? Shiro’s talked about love like it’s some sort of plant that needs gentle care over a long period — something that blossoms slowly when you put the work in. But this — all of it, the entire Lance shebang, never felt like work to Keith. It felt like one of the most logical, natural, easiest things he’s ever done. Like falling in love with Lance made the most sense out of anything he’s ever felt. And it’s kind of wild — the fact that even after this tiny amount of time, Keith barely remembers what it was like not to know him. 

They haven’t even _labelled_ things, yet. Like, they haven’t really dropped the B-word for whatever reason, even though that’s pretty much what they are at this point. Isn’t that something that comes first? Like, before love? Are there even rules to this? Does any of this make sense at all?

Keith whips off his shorts like it’ll help him get out of his own head. He heads over to join everyone, making quick work of submerging himself under the water, hoping the shock of cold will help clear his thoughts. Because they’re with people. They’re not alone, and as much as Keith would like to be either alone with his thoughts right now or alone with Lance, he’s gotta keep it together. 

“Nice of you to join us,” Lance smirks, gliding over to him. Keith can’t really reply, not over the lump still in his throat. He smiles, instead. 

“Matt and I were just talking about waxing,” he grins. 

“Of course,” Pidge huffs, floating on her back. 

Keith furrows his brow, still smiling. He’s obviously well-acquainted with Lance’s body by now — dustings of brown body hair included. “You wax?”

“I tried it, once, on a drunk bet. My ex didn’t think I could get through both my legs without crying.”

“And?”

“I lost,” Lance shrugs. “But it was super hot in, like, a _kinky_ way. For like, five minutes before I started regretting losing all my leg hair.”

“Classic,” Pidge mumbles. 

Huh… Keith files that one for later, when sex gets… more adventurous. 

“I haaated it,” Matt laughs, floating to lean back against the rocks at the water’s edge. “I loved what it was like afterward, but the process…” they shiver. “Getting lazer was pretty shitty too, but I don’t need to worry about it ever.”

“Aaaaand now we look like fucking twins,” Pidge grunts.

“I’m like… seven years older than you! And half a foot taller —”

“I’m just happy you grew out your hair. It was so fucking weird when we matched.”

Keith chuckles, relaxing against the rocks as well. He remembers hanging out with Pidge and Matt back when they looked more eerily similar than they do now. It was honestly pretty funny — and super weird when they got high together, Keith could barely tell the difference. 

“Yeah,” Lance snorts. “You looked like clones.”

“Excuse me,” Pidge sneers. “Remember when you tried to grow a man bun, and you looked _exactly_ like Veronica when it got to your chin?”

“Uh, _what?!_ ” Keith grins, leaning forward. “I’m sorry, _you_ had a man bun?”

“ _Tried_ ,” Lance points out, lifting a finger. “I was too traumatized when my dad accidentally called me Vero, and I shaved it off a minute later.”

“Weak.”

“I’m sorry, Keith, not everyone is you. We can’t all look grizzled with long hair.”

“Uh,” Keith starts, frowning. Hearing Lance and Matt talk about hair choices kind of makes him realize that he’s never really… made any conscious style choices. With his hair at least. The whole undercut thing was really more practical than anything — it is definitely easier to tie up now. “I don’t really think about… my hair.”

Pidge snorts. “Yeah, pretty sure my old mullet photos of you can attest to that.”

“Hey!”

“Oh my god,” Lance squeals. “Send them to me, _please_.”

“I have some, too!” Matt chimes in. _Wow._ What a traitor.

“Fuck _off_ ,” Keith grits out, kind of masking a small laugh as he hurls as much water as he can in their direction. Not wanting to be outdone, Lance is splashing him back a moment later, which only escalates things. And before they know it, their peaceful night time skinny dip has become a full-on four-way war. 

It’s pretty fun, actually. In a mildly adrenaline-inducing kind of way. But one of their neighboring campers got pissed enough to throw some strongly-worded queb expletives their way, stopping everything in its tracks. It’s still fucking hilarious, though. And Keith kind of loses it for a second — giggling like a kid, watching Lance cup his own face and bite back embarrassed tears. 

“Kay, I’m gonna head to bed,” Matt announces, chuckling. “This was fun, but the water’s kinda cold and I wanna sleep.”

“Same!” Pidge pipes up, a little too quickly. She’s giving them space, Keith realizes. His heart rate doubles at that, before he can even think. 

They say their goodnights to their friends, and Keith tries to swallow down his own fears, hoping that Lance won’t notice anything amiss. He’s not sure if this is _the_ time to say… something or other. They might be under a blanket of stars in a reflective pool of water, and both nearly _naked_ at that. But Keith’s still sort of afraid that —

Honestly, he’s not sure. It’s not super clear what he’s afraid of. Scaring Lance off? Speaking too soon? What even _is_ the right time to say this kind of thing? 

“Okay, so I lied.” 

Keith blinks at Lance, startled out of his own thoughts. His companion lowers himself in the water a little, joining Keith in leaning against the rocks.

“My dad didn’t call me Vero by accident, he… He was kinda making fun of me.”

“What?” Keith breathes. 

Lance purses his lips, staring at the water in front of him. He looks oddly serious, given how idiotic and carefree they were not a moment earlier. “He’s not a bad guy, he just… has a certain _opinion_ of what boys and men should be like. And I challenged that.”

“That’s… I’m sorry, that sucks —”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” Lance cuts in, shooting him a small smile. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning his head back a moment later. “I just… It’s been on my mind a little. Lately.”

“Oh?”

“They don’t know about you. Yet.”

Keith tenses. _Oh_. So that’s —

“I’m not like… I just don’t know how to talk to them about it.” Lance sighs, closing his eyes. “I dunno how Marco got his kids not to let something slip, but yeah.”

“I thought… I thought you were out —”

“I am,” Lance affirms, fixing him with a slightly challenging look. “But they don’t really get it, not really.”

“They wouldn’t be okay with — ”

“No, it’s not that. They wouldn’t want to make me feel shitty, and they’d probably just swallow down whatever they were thinking and tell me they love me no matter what. But I _know_ my parents, and they’re Catholic Cubans from Cardenas and sometimes they’re a little bewildered by… me.”

It’s hard not to miss how Lance deflates a little. Keith kind of hates it. 

“They had two boys before me. And my brothers are, like… _bros_. Luis is a total jock and Marco’s a big dude who’s into carpentry and cars and shit. And then they had me, and I kinda threw them for a loop ‘cause I was emotional and sensitive and I liked playing dress-up with my sisters more than I liked playing soccer with Luis.”

Keith nods, unsure of whether he should say something. Lance seems like he’s on a roll, though. He doesn’t look like he’s stopping. 

“I think they were… surprised when I started talking about liking girls, honestly.” Lance laughs a little bitterly, shaking his head. “And my dad was really happy when I started climbing ‘cause it was like… a _sport_ , you know? Something boys do. But I always felt this weird thing in the back of my head, like I _knew_ I was different even before I knew why.”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair again. And the moment he looks up at Keith, lip pursed and eyes wide, something about the level of vulnerability Lance is showing makes Keith’s heart stutter in his chest. Because none of this is anything Keith has ever really grappled with. Everyone around him barely had any expectations of him at all, really. 

“I dunno if it’s dumb, but.. I’m kinda _scared_ , Keith. I’m worried about what they’re gonna think.”

 _Fuck what they think,_ echoes in Keith’s head. _I love you. I love you I love you I lo —_

Lance grins a little, his smile fond despite the worry still in his eyes. “You gonna say something? You look like you need to —”

“Lance… they love you, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Look, I — I’m not great at this —”

“You’re better than you think you are,” Lance interrupts. His hand rests over Keith’s knee under the water. 

Keith shakes his head, willing his thoughts out of the gutter before he can say his piece. “I know what it’s like to have your parents get to know you all over again. Like, as an adult. And honestly, if my mom and grandma and your parents have anything in common, they’ll just be happy to get to know _you_.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… Lance, how much do you tell them about what’s going on with you? In general?”

“They know about my life and stuff…” Lance trails off, brow furrowing. “It’s not like I share everything, though.”

“They’ll appreciate the honesty. Even if they don’t right away, they will eventually.”

Lance squints. “Yeah?”

“If my eighty year-old Korean grandma can get used to me being gay, your parents will get used to you dating me.”

He says it with such assuredness that it pulls a laugh from Lance. Not a sarcastic one, nor a skeptical one, but a genuine hearty chuckle. 

“Keith, the whole you being a guy thing aside, you’ve also got a sleeve of tattoos, an edgy haircut, and you dress like the lovechild of a metalhead and a health goth.”

“I can try to… clean up, when I meet them.” Keith forces a tentative smile, suddenly stressing over his lack of clothes that aren’t either ripped or sportswear. “I can wear sleeves —”

“No, no,” Lance shakes his head, eyes softening. “Be yourself. Wear whatever. Do your own thing. I’m just saying it… might take some getting used to. For them. And that… that can be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah." 

Lance smiles, taking in Keith’s face with obvious appreciation. Keith’s vaguely aware that he hasn’t really been breathing — the shrinking distance between their faces too distracting for that. He feels Lance run a hand up his thigh, poking a finger under the hem of his boxer briefs. Keith’s breath hitches. 

“You’re good at that.”

“At what?” Keith almost whispers. 

“Making things seem less scary.”

He’s close enough now that Keith feels his breath on his jaw and neck, and before he can process that transition between talking and… other stuff, their mouths meet, tongues licking into one another almost immediately. 

-  
Lance is already naked, Keith remembers. When he reaches a hand over to angle Lance’s hips closer to his own, his palm brushes what is definitely a rock hard boner underwater. Lance moans into his mouth, leaning further in until he’s rutting himself against Keith’s thigh, legs slotted together. It’s a little clumsy — they’re in a weird not quite seated yet not quite standing position, thanks to the rocks at their back and the water and lake bed under their feet. But it’s definitely… working for them. At least right now.  
-

Keith’s kind of glad things are less scary for Lance. Because this is getting more and more terrifying for Keith himself — something about all of it is making his heart clench in his chest and his brain fog up with emotion in a way that’s never really happened before. It’s the first time, he realizes, that they’re going to have sex after Keith’s admitted to himself that he’s most definitely in love. And he wants to _say_ something about it, but — he can’t do that right now. He doesn’t want that admission to happen in the middle of the act. 

Maybe later, when they’re lying next to one another or drifting off to sleep. Maybe then he’ll say it with words. But Keith’s always been more comfortable doing than talking. And right now, he’s going to do _everything_ for Lance. He wants to show him _exactly_ how important he is. 

Lance nips at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and running his fingers into his hair, tugging strands free from the confines of his bun. He pushes Keith back into the rocks, his thigh doing wonderful things as it presses _just_ enough on his crotch to make him shudder. And it’s all _incredible_ , but Keith’s attempted sex in a swimming pool before, and water is the antithesis of lube. They’re not gonna do it here. 

“Let’s go back to the tent,” Keith mumbles, pulling back to lick at Lance’s ear. He lets his hands trail to his ass, squeezing his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” Lance pants, pushing himself back into Keith’s hands a little. _Damn_. He’s kinda getting ideas.

They’re silent when they get out to grab their clothes. Keith’s kind of aware that he’s staring — probably a little too hungrily — at Lance’s wet ass cheeks. He gives in to the temptation of smacking them and squeezing as they start walking back, Lance shooting him an amused look over his shoulder. 

“What, am I bottoming this time?” he whispers, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’d like that,” Keith simpers, hand still in place. “If you want to.”

A look of mild panic crosses Lance’s face. He laughs at his feet, shaking his head as they brush past some trees. 

“Be good to my butt, kay? It’s been a while.”

“Mmm,” is all Keith can manage, digging his fingers in again with renewed enthusiasm. 

-  
Things kind of pass in a blur. One minute they’re walking back, and the next, Lance is splayed out on the camping mattress, legs pushed back as far as Keith can manage as he licks at his taint. He’s really fucking flexible — more so than Keith realized initially, but he supposes that kind of makes sense. 

“What do you want?” Keith mumbles, nipping at the junction of his inner thigh. 

“I dunno,” Lance sighs, clearly lost already.

“Anything. Just tell me.”

“Nnnghh,” he groans, running a hand down his face. “Okay. Fuck my mouth while you finger me.”

Keith bolts upward on his haunches, blinking his eyes wide open. Lance cringes. 

“Sorry, that was like — the least sexy way of putting it.”

Keith could not disagree more. 

“Just… do whatever, I don’t —”

“ _Stop talking._ ”

Keith rolls him onto his side, shifting his own body along the mattress to position them right. His dick pokes Lance’s face unceremoniously as he rests his head on his thigh, bracing his hands along his ass as he continues the buttplay business. And Lance, evidently at a complete loss for words, needs a short moment to process everything before he’s guiding Keith into his mouth, wrapping a tight grip around him. 

And it’s fucking heavenly. What better way to show a guy you love him than some great sixty-nine'ing? Keith kind of thought tonight’s romp would be sort of romantic, but romance is probably dead anyway. 

Even though they’ve pretty much done this sort of thing before, Keith’s never _quite_ gotten this up close and personal with Lance’s ass. And holy shit, he may have just discovered a new favourite hobby. It’s kind of incredible — the way Lance is making muffled sounds around him with every exploratory dip of Keith’s fingers and tongue. His brain is kind of fogging over with lust, losing track of where they are and what’s going on in favour of _more_ of whatever’s going on. Of feeling _exactly_ how much Lance is enjoying himself at Keith’s hand. 

There’s another way to do that though. And Keith catches himself at just the right moment, before he completely loses control to stop and change things up because he’d _really_ like to try his hand at the dick-in-ass thing tonight. 

And Lance is on the same page, it seems. They don’t exchange a single word when Keith pulls out of his mouth and ass and gets up to sit back on his haunches. Completely debauched already, Lance just lies there gazing up at him with the doofiest and most satisfied expression, chest heaving as he brings a hand to wipe his mouth. They smile at one another, these sex-drunk and satisfied grins before Keith reaches over to fumble for his lube and condoms. 

“H — hey, wait.”

Keith pauses, eyes lazily trailing back to Lance. “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” Lance continues panting, gaze trailing up at the roof of the tent. His mouth twists, almost embarrassed. “I’m not planning on banging anyone else. And I’m clean.”

“Huh?”

He looks back at Keith, rolling onto his side to rest his head on a bent arm. “And last I checked, I can’t get pregnant.”

Keith squints, all the blood from his brain having migrated to his dick apparently. “Whuh?”

Lance’s expression flattens. “Really? Do you seriously need me to explain — nnngh,” he groans, rolling back and running his hands down his face. “We don’t… need to use a condom. If you’re down with that.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

It kind of takes a moment to catch up with Keith, because he’s sort of accustomed to always using protection (kinda sorta an important part of the ‘only banging strangers’ thing — turns out Keith only needed to catch chlamydia once before he swore an oath to himself to be smart about sex). It’s been a _while_ , though, since he’s done the unprotected thing with someone. Like, since he was with Dom, which feels like ages ago at this point. 

“.... Yes,” Keith says almost robotically. _Nice. Smooth._

Lance blushes, rolling onto his side once again. He smiles, eyes soft in the dim beam of the camping flashlight in the corner. Keith doesn’t miss how he curls into himself a little, his knees rising up near his abdomen in a kind of obviously show of vulnerability. Keith swallows, steadying himself. Because as much as he’d like to be rough and raw and completely uncontrolled, he’s still got some wits about him left. Enough to remember that Lance has never done this with a guy. And that he’s barely done this sort of thing at all, at that. 

So Keith breathes, trying to calm himself down as much as possible. It’s not like he thinks of Lance as some kind of delicate flower — but he wants to do whatever it is they’re about to do with as much care as possible. He can see the bruises he left on Lance’s skin the night before, and he doesn’t want that kind of mishap to take place right now. 

“How do you want it?” Keith manages, his voice incredibly low and crackled, almost inaudible like he’s choking on the thickening air around them. He dabs some more lube on his already slick fingers and slowly brings them to his own dick, eyes never leaving Lance’s. 

Lance’s breath hitches, eyes darting down to where Keith is slowly stroking himself, and all around his body as if to take every inch of him in. 

“I’d — I’d like to be on my back. I know it’s supposed to be easier if I’m on top, but —”

“Cool.” Keith nods, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“... I _really_ want you to be in control, this time.” 

That last part comes out kind of laboured — like it took a whole lot of work just to speak those words. It sends a shock straight down Keith’s spine, skin tingling with anticipation. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Lance breathes, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “I trust you.”

He barely has time to process anything before Keith is surging forward and slotting their lips together. They’re kissing — quickly at first, and slower and slower by the second as he positions himself between Lance’s legs, brushing against him. It’s all well and good until Keith feels legs hook themselves around his back, pulling him in further until their bodies are completely flush. So he stops, breaking their lips apart to look at Lance one last time for approval. 

Lance presses his lips together, nodding. And Keith starts. 

The first minute is slow — Lance hisses initially, eyes closing and mouth opening as he tries to relax as much as possible. Keith does absolutely everything in his power not to take off right away, and instead chooses to appreciate the all-consuming tightness and warmth as he dives deeper and deeper out of his own mind. 

“You okay?” he croaks. 

Lance inhales, his eyes peeking open slightly. “Yeah. Go slow, g’na need a minute.”

“Is it good though?”

He smiles, slow and languid until a bright grin lights up his face. Keith’s heart does a gay little jump at that.

“It’s _really_ good, babe.”

Keith kisses him, arms slipping under Lance’s to grip the pillow. He starts moving, gently at first and then quicker and quicker the more he’s met with approving moans. The legs around Keith tighten, heels pushing into his lower back as he presses their foreheads together. 

And it’s absolutely euphoric. Just seeing Lance fall apart beneath him and knowing that _he’s_ doing that, he’s the one making him feel so good is enough to make Keith completely lose his mind. 

He _loves_ it. All of it. It’s like being lit on fire from the inside. 

“Aaah, _Keith_ —”

“ _I love you_ ,”

“Uh —”

“Nnngh,”

“What?”

Keith slows to a stop, blinking his eyes open and meeting Lance’s gaze and —

Oh. Oh _fuck_.

Because it’s not like he had any clue what was coming out of his own mouth. But as his brain catches up with him and Lance’s brow furrows with unmistakable confusion, Keith suddenly wants nothing more than to peel off his own skin. 

“I, uh — I’m not ready… for that. Yet.”

Lance says it so softly and carefully it almost doesn’t sting. Almost.

“Keep going, it’s okay,” he adds, smiling up at him. “It’s all good.”

Keith nods, licking his lips. “Okay.”

When he starts moving again, Lance kisses him. It gets him out of his head. He feels his hands run along his back, digging into the divets of his back muscles as Lance pulls him in. 

It’s kinda hard to get distracted by a slip up like that one when your dick is up someone’s ass — especially if said person with said ass doesn’t seem to mind. So Keith continues, and fucks harder and deeper and Lance is _clearly_ still really into it, so maybe it doesn’t really matter. It’s still good, still _amazing_ honestly, and Keith finds himself melting back into it, all higher cognitive functions thrown out the window. 

“ _I love you._ ”

“... Uh, Keith?”

“ _FUCK_!”

He stops the fucking in its tracks, groaning as he squishes his face into the pillow next to Lance’s head like an ostrich burying its head in sand. At this point, Keith’s not even sure he’ll ever be able to look at Lance — at _anyone_ ever again. He’d rather die. 

It’s not like he can just pull out and roll over into the fetal position like he _so_ would love to do right now. Pulling out of Lance’s tight ass is gonna be a production in itself, so he’s kinda stuck at the moment.

“Babe?” Lance whispers into his ear, carding fingers through his hair. Well. At least he’s still calling Keith “Babe.” Maybe he hasn’t given up yet.

“Nhh.”

“Hey, it’s okay —”

“MHH.”

“It’s fine, really.” 

Keith whines pathetically, slowly turning his head. When he faces Lance, all pouty and flushed and feeling like he’d rather be swallowed up by a sinkhole, Lance chuckles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Please don’t stop fucking me,” he whispers afterward, right into Keith’s ear. 

Well. As if Keith could resist a request like that. 

“Different position?” Keith grunts. He’s not sure he’ll be able to stay composed this close to Lance’s face.

“Okay,” Lance nods. “Yeah.”

Pulling out does in fact take a moment, and Lance needs to relax and push out a little to get the job done. But once they switch things around, Lance is lying on his stomach, a pillow under his lower abdomen to angle his ass up a little. And Keith, suddenly completely mesmerized by the sight, lets his caveman brain take over and fucks into him the moment he gets the okay. 

Lance is louder like this. It’s like Keith’s hitting things _just_ right, completely immersed in the feel of it. Thankfully, things are a little more filthy now and a little less romantic, Keith finds he can keep fucking without fear of a repeat of his previous mishap. He runs a hand up Lance’s neck, into the nape of his hair, tugging it at the root. And Lance whines, eyes nearly rolling back in his head before he shuts them tight. 

When he leans forward, trapping Lance’s body under his, he can feel himself tipping over the edge. 

“M’ gna —”

And before he knows it, he’s spilling into Lance, mind going completely white. Lance pushes himself up just enough to get a hand on his own dick, and starts pumping. 

Keith swats away his hand, taking over. It takes a little longer, maybe an extra minute or two, but he keeps lightly fucking into Lance as much as he can muster until his orgasm hits. 

They smile as they come down, toppled onto the mattress and recollecting their senses. This part is kind of familiar now. Except this time, Keith’s the one that jumps into action and starts cleaning. He rolls Lance onto his back, grabbing a baby wipe and taking great care to gently graze over his hole and sensitive dick. 

The sheets are kinda ruined. Thankfully, the mess doesn’t extend to the sleeping bag itself, though.  
-

It’s quiet. Keith could probably guess why, though he doesn’t really want to think about it. But Lance’s eyes are curious, trailing after him as he busies himself until there isn’t much more left to do. 

Lance sits up to join Keith, sighing. He shifts a little to sit comfortably, and looks at him with lidded eyes. Keith braces himself for what’s going to come next. 

“I really like you, Keith —”

“But,” Keith interrupts, smiling sadly. 

Lance chuckles, placing a hand on his knee as he shakes his head. “No ‘buts.’ I like you, a lot.”

“But you don’t love me.” 

He doesn’t really mean for it to sound as sad as it does, but it’s out there and he can’t take it back.

Lance leans forward, resting their foreheads together. His hand finds Keith’s, and intwines their fingers together. 

“What’s my name?”

Keith furrows his brow. “What?”

Pulling back, Lance squeezes his hand a little tighter. “What’s my name?”

“Lance Espinosa?”

“It’s not,” Lance chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s Leandro Álvaro Napoleón Cuesta-Espinosa.”

Keith frowns. “Huh?”

“‘Lance’ is an acronym, it’s a nickname. My first name is Leandro, and I have two middle names and a hyphenated last name.”

“Why… why didn’t I know that?”

“Because there’s a lot you don’t know about me. And I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about you, either.”

Keith’s frown deepens. He looks down at their hands, entwined in his lap. 

“I’m _so_ into you, Keith. You have no idea. You’re so kind, and adorable, and kind of terrifying-looking at first glance.” Keith looks back up to meet his gaze, mouth twitching into a small smile. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m really happy we’re together, okay?”

Nodding, Keith sighs. He can’t help but internalize the words, letting them warm him up from the inside. 

“I just… I need some time. That’s all. This —” Lance gestures between them. “ — it’s not something I take lightly.”

Keith nods again, falling forward to rest his head in the crook of Lance’s neck, hoping his warmth and scent will stop his thoughts from racing out of control. He feels Lance’s arms wrap around him, long fingers digging comfortingly into his back. 

“You’re a great top, by the way,” Lance murmurs into his hair. “Totally didn’t see that coming, like — solid dom vibes, dude.”

Keith laughs into his shoulder, relaxing a little. “You can be pretty subby when you wanna be, eh?”

“Heh, yeah but that’s no secret.”

“I’ll bring the nipple clamps next time.”

Lance tenses. He pulls back, gripping Keith’s shoulders, eyes wide. “You fucking wouldn’t.”

“I dunno,” Keith drawls, his hair fall into his eyes a little. He pins Lance with a stare, sitting up taller. “You didn’t think I’d be a good top, tsk. You’ve been…”

“Keith, if you say what I think you’re gonna say —”

“ — a _bad boy_ , Leandro.”

“FUCK YOU! At least I didn’t drop the L-bomb during sex!”

Keith gasps, immediately poking his ribs until Lance is a writhing mess on the mattress, half giggling and half muttering weak, half-hearted pleas for mercy. It works, after a while, and he relents — letting Lance catch his breath and swat him in the arm a couple times. 

“Oh — okay, fuck off,” Lance rasps between a mix of laughs and laboured inhales. Keith grins, feeling especially giddy for someone whose accidental declaration of love was politely rebuffed only minutes earlier. Going into tonight, just the thought of something like that happening would have absolutely been completely anxiety-inducing. It seemed like a worst-case scenario. But now that Keith’s on the other side of it, and that Lance is still his normal, ridiculous self, it feels completely… fine, honestly. 

And sure, that might be thanks to some of the especially nice things Lance said to ease his mind. He’d kinda figured Lance was into him, but hearing it out loud like that… it’s something else. 

“Piss and brush teeth?” Lance whispers, like he’s suddenly aware they should be quiet right now. 

“Yeah,” Keith nods. He reaches over to grab his flannel shirt. 

~~~

Lance likes to think he’s keeping a tight lid on the fact that he’s mildly freaking out right now. 

Like, _very mildly_.

So, Keith loves him, apparently. Which is a _tad_ crazy, because where the fuck did that even come from? It’s not like Lance hasn’t _thought_ about it himself but… honestly, he really didn’t think they were there yet. He _still_ doesn’t think they’re there yet. And given the fact that Lance has been actively postponing his freak out about Jenny’s last message until they’re back home tomorrow, he’s just kind of feeling especially not ready. 

The thing is, though, the sex they had — for a little while there, it was the kind of sex you have with someone you love. Keith obviously felt it, given his little slip up. And Lance felt it too. Honestly, in retrospect, Lance can’t really imagine himself doing what they did with just anyone. And that admission, though it’s not much, is still kind of terrifying all the same.

What even is love, though? Like, what the fuck is it, if what he had with Jenny and what he has now with Keith feel like two completely different things? 

Lance finishes brushing his teeth, washing his mouth out with some water from a bottle and sighing. Keith wraps up next to him, looking especially adorable in nothing but a half-buttoned oversized red flannel shirt and a pair of adidas slides, his flaccid cock and balls peeking out whenever he moves. 

It’s… okay, it’s fucking adorable. And kinda hot in a weird way. The sight of Keith spitting out toothpaste half-naked with sex hair that he hasn’t bothered to fix at all is something forever etched into Lance’s memory bank, like something precious and special he wants to hold deep in his heart forever. And honestly, maybe that’s what love is. Or a part of it, he doesn’t know. But Lance kind of… wants to know? If that makes any sense?

He looks down at himself — at his grey hoodie and blue boxer briefs with little bikes all over… wait, no, these are Keith’s boxers. 

“I’m wearing your boxers,” Lance mumbles, raising an eyebrow. 

Keith gurgles some water from his bottle and spits it out unceremoniously into the dirt. “I thought you wore them on purpose.”

“Nope.” Lance chuckles, grinning at Keith. “Not the first time tried on a partner’s underwear.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Keith smirks, crossing his arms. 

“This one girl, the one who pegged me? She convinced me to try on her lacy underwear.”

“Again, not surprised.” 

Lance grabs their flashlight from the tree before they start walking back to the tent, ducking a little under the tree branches and gently bumping shoulders. 

“It was… kinda cool? Can’t say they were like, comfy, but they made my ass look _great_.”

Keith snorts. “I can imagine.”

Lance winks, his thought process getting cut off by a slight pressure in his bladder, reminding him to take a final pee. 

“I’m gonna take a leak,” Lance gesture over his shoulder. “I’ll join you in bed?”

“We took a leak like, five minutes ago,” Keith points out casually, yawning to punctuate his sentence. It’s entirely _too_ casual, honestly, given how Lance’s gut does a backflip at that. 

“Uh, yeah I needa go again,” he continues, laughing it off. And before Keith can say another word, Lance is back in the trees, out of sight. 

_Don’t burn, don’t burn_ , runs through his head again and again as he whips his dick out of Keith’s boxers and holds it steady. Sure enough, his piss doesn’t burn. But not much comes out either, despite that classic ‘urgent need to pee’ feeling. _Fuck_ , if his downstairs area is brewing a flare right now of all times, he’s gonna fucking lose it. 

“ _They do bladder removals, now,_ ” he mutters angrily at his dick. “ _I will fucking end you._ ”

It doesn’t help. 

But knowing what he knows about his plumbing and all the bullshit it’s been subjecting him to for years, this isn’t a battle he can win here. 

He tucks himself back in, and heads to the tent. 

It could be the strain from all their exercise earlier that started it. Or the beer — Lance can’t remember if he took prelief tablets before tonight’s dinner. Hell, it could definitely be the sex they had earlier — which would suck even more, since Lance would _love_ to do that again soon. 

When he enters the tent, Keith is already melted into the mattress, flannel shirt blending in with the pattern on the sleeping bag. He lifts his head weakly, mumbling something unintelligible. 

“Mmm.” he rolls onto his side, making tired grabby motions with his hands. Lance laughs, despite the growing worry in his chest. 

“I’ll be right back, just getting water.” he delivers a quick peck to Keith’s cheek for good measure, and is back out the door again, pain meds in hand. 

Lance curses himself for not remembering to take one before they got down to business. He makes his way over to the cooler in the dark, opening it to retrieve some more water and a cold compress. 

Now, he _could_ go back to the tent. Or, Lance could go find someone to freak out to, just to get it out of his system. That might help, honestly, given that he often needs all the help he can get when it comes to winding down and sleeping when he’s supposed to. It’s worked before and it’ll probably work again, and Lance straightens himself up and pads his way over to Hunk’s tent. 

When he gets close enough, though, he’s met with the unmistakable sound of… smooching. He stops, hands stiffening around the bottle and ice pack in his hands and holds his breath, hoping that Hunk and Shay (he’s assuming, it’s not like there’s anyone else it could be) don’t end up detecting his presence. 

The walk back to his own tent is kind of… unsettling. It’s not especially nice to be alone with your thoughts when they might be actively working against you. It’s not like Lance can bother Pidge about this, because the last time he tried to wake her up from a peaceful slumber, she went full-on angry gremlin. And it’s not like he’s got anything to occupy himself with, either — they’re out in the fucking woods, with no light or Wi-Fi or distractions to keep his anxiety at bay while he ices his balls. _Fuck_ , Lance mentally curses to himself. Amazing sex aside, this really isn’t his night. 

He gets back to the tent in a distracted haze. Once there, he sighs and attempts to clear his thoughts, leaning back on the mattress and pressing the cold pack to his perineum. Keith scoots over, eyes still closed and wraps an arm around his chest. 

“You good?” Keith mutters almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah.” Lance nods, because he has no clue how to really answer him. “Yeah, it’s just —”

It doesn’t matter though, because Keith’s out cold. 

This seems like a fine moment to take stock of all the shit on Lance’s plate at the moment. He closes his eyes, enumerating everything in his head against his better judgement. 

One, Keith loves him, apparently. 

Two, his bladder _might_ be about to revolt. 

Three, Jenny’s message is still right there in his phone, waiting for him.

And four, Hunk’s not available. This isn’t exactly the worst out of all of them, but it’s definitely not helping. 

See, Lance could _maybe_ manage one serious conversation about one of these topics with Keith in the near future. But the idea of addressing all four just makes him want to curl up into a ball and turn to stone. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance mutters. He takes a couple deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself. At least there isn’t any pain. God knows whether there will be, but at least dealing with the weird anticipation of not knowing whether a flare will happen is better than dealing with full-on spasms. 

It’s still lonely, though. And that might be the worst part. Because in Lance’s personal experience, there’s absolutely nothing lonelier than lying in bed with an ice pack on your crotch and swirling thoughts in your head when everyone you know is asleep. And it’s not just because you’ve got no one to talk to — that part’s sort of obvious. The worst of it is knowing that even if they were awake, even if they _did_ know what was going on, they would never _really_ understand how it feels when every single decision you make is a gamble.

Going climbing all day? A gamble. Sex? A gamble. Food? Another wager on whether or not you’ll wake up the next morning in pain. And it’s not just the pain — if it were just that, things might be easier. But it’s the fallout from it. It’s what happens when your relationships change over things you can’t really control. It’s the fact that no matter what Lance does, and no matter how good things get, he’ll always wind up back here. 

Keith snores a little, suddenly hooking a leg over Lance’s like a koala. It’s honestly… pretty fucking cute, and he can’t really complain. It’s grounding in a way — it’s not a cure-all, but it’s something. And Lance can work with something. He can make do with what he’s got. 

Closing his eyes and taking a few steady breaths, Lance thinks of Keith’s weight on his leg and chest, of floating in the lake, of standing at the top of that tall boulder earlier today. Eventually, the fatigue in his limbs wins out over the buzzing in his head, and he feels sleep slowly take over. With any luck, this will just be one of those times where things really don’t seem nearly as dire in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tldr: Keith accidentally tells Lance he loves him during sex. He does it again a minute later, because he's a big dumb boi.
> 
> WOO! That took a long ass time. I really don't want to take that long going forward, but sometimes life gets in the way and you also decide you wanna put a bunch of shit in a single giant chapter. This was also kind of the unofficial end of Act 2, which mean's we're gearing up for Act 3, which I am VERY excited for.
> 
> Also, I'm about halfway through writing the Shiro/Adam/Curtis oneshot about the night they met. At first, I thought I could bang it out in a week, but ended up not doing that. I'm gonna be prioritizing B2TW updates, but hopefully the oneshot will be out before this story wraps up. 
> 
> ALSO, I'm doing inktober over on my tumblr! Not following prompts really, just trying to draw something for fun every day. For every day I skip, I've promised to upload a cat picture. 
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH for reading!!! I missed you! Hope you're having a lovely weekend, and I'm wishing y'all the best for the days to come :)
> 
> Glossary:  
>  **crash pad:** kind of like a fold-up, portable mat that climbers bring with them for outdoor climbing.  
>  **health goth** : I feel like a few years ago, Montrealers went through a big health goth phase where everyone was wearing black and white sportswear all the time. Even though Keith's not deliberately trying to be a health goth, sometimes he looks like that.


	12. Radio Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keith —”
> 
> “ _Why are you enabling him?_ ” It takes a lot of effort to keep things at a reasonable volume, but he’s going to try anyway. “It’s not okay to shut people out —”
> 
> The anxious voice in his head he’s been grappling with for days reminds him that this might be his own fault. It might be _something_ he did, and just didn’t realize at the time. But that’s… you know what? That doesn’t really make sense. There’s nothing wrong with telling someone you love them. Even if they don’t say it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue how I managed to finish a chapter in less than 2 weeks, but here you go. (It's probably because I was on a 5 hour train to Toronto, and because this week is my break from class)
> 
> Welcome back! and welcome to Act 3: the stuff, aka the last part of this story. Lots of stuff is gonna happen, and I have no idea how long it will take me, but i'm excited to have you along for the ride.
> 
> Big thanks to laomedeia (aka lao-medeia on tumblr) for doing the Spanish translation in this chapter and also for being a fun person. Also big thanks to Squelette aka noussommeslessquelettes, wayfared aka voltronseatbelts, toffle aka maltedmilkchocolate and ilgaksu aka ilgaksu for letting me yell while i wrote this. I think it helped! I don't do beta reading because i am impatient as hell and i dont want to subject people i like to my impatience, but these folks have been great listeners when i was wrangling with my thoughts.
> 
> CW for pain and anxiety and the emotions that come with that.
> 
> [also, an english translation of the spanish dialogue is in the endnotes. enjoy!]

Waking up is rough probably… 90% of the time. Lance doesn’t trust morning people, because the simple act of opening his eyes and heaving himself out of bed most mornings is enough to make him want to scream. Waking up with Keith though, is different. Maybe it’s the cuddling endorphins. 

Today though… it’s not helping. It’s like no matter how many times Lance has woken up with a flare during his lifetime, he always forgets what it’s like. For a second when his consciousness exits that sleepy state and enters awareness, there’s this moment where things are kind of confusing. Like, why is my dick hurting? Why does my abdomen feel weird? 

And then there’s the “oh shit, gotta pee!” feeling, coupled with the fun early-morning executive dysfunction, convincing Lance not to get up even though getting up would be _a really good idea_ at the moment. So instead, he sort of just lies there and lets the pain and discomfort slowly creep into view until they’re the only things occupying his mind. Not to mention the fact that his shoulders and back are _sore_ after all the climbing yesterday. He’s gonna need an ibuprophen. Maybe four. 

There are no spasms though. Which is fucking _great_ , truly. Explaining those to Keith as they’re happening is probably at the top of his list of things Lance would love to never do in his life, thank you very much. 

He rolls onto his back and — _shit_. Okay, so his ass his sore too. It makes complete sense, given the whole getting dicked down thing that happened last night. Damn, being sex-sore on top of the other kinds of sore is definitely… unhelpful. He’s going with unhelpful.

He presses a hand to his lower abdomen in a fruitless attempt to relieve some of the lingering, mild internal burning. It’s not _quite_ bad yet — but it’s enough to signal that things might be getting bad at some point today. 

When though… he’s not sure. It better not be soon, because Lance is still with Keith and a bunch of people, and they’re supposed to be packing up and driving back all together. And the last thing Lance wants to do right now is to not only have to explain what’s happening inside of himself to Keith, but to literally everyone with them. 

So he’s not gonna say anything, he decides. He’s gonna put on a bright face and trudge through and get home and let himself rest. And maybe, _hopefully_ , Keith won’t notice a thing out of place. Maybe he’ll get off scott free.

“Good morning,” Keith mumbles, rolling over and hugging Lance around the middle. He nuzzles into his neck, delivering soft kisses up to his temple. His eyes aren’t even open yet. 

“Hey, buddy,” Lance chuckles, trying his damndest to sound normal. He tries to focus on Keith’s arms, the weight and feel of them wrapped around his stomach to distract himself from everything else. Shuffling a little, he delivers a soft peck to Keith’s temple, bring his hand over to muss up his hair. 

“N’ dn’ wanna get up,” Keith mutters into his shoulder. 

“Then don’t,” Lance whispers, nuzzling his hair. It’s really _nice_ , honestly. It’s everything he wanted out of this trip — everything he didn’t really get yesterday morning. But he can’t really bring himself to enjoy it _fully_. The pain is a little… too distracting. And his bladder is slowly feeling like it needs to open its floodgates and evacuate, stat. 

It fucking sucks. Cause, like… Keith is _so cute_ , all illuminated by the sun, his black hair in dissaray across the pillow, half covering his face. He almost doesn’t look like he’s 5 foot 10 and weighs probably twenty pounds of pure muscle more than Lance, or that he could probably kill a turkey with his bare hands. He just looks like an adorable guy sleeping like a baby. Someone Lance could really, honestly find himself falling in love with. 

And… _shit_.

Keith blinks his eyes open, smiling lightly up at him. “Hey.”

Lance takes a sharp inhale. Because his hips bucking forward involuntarily at the sensation of a needle driving itself straight up his groin completely took him out of whatever tender headspace he was just in. _Fuck._ This is incredibly unfair. Looks like their blissful morning cuddle sesh is cut short. 

Keith furrows his brow, perhaps sensing Lance’s growing discomfort. “You ok?”

“Yeah… just sore.” Lance forces a small smile and hoists himself up, wincing. 

“Same,” Keith grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom,” Lance mutters, whipping on the first shirt he finds and frantically shuffling for his bag of meds. “I’ll be back.”

He’s out of the tent, grabbing his water bottle in only a split second, too quick to hear if Keith said anything back. This isn’t gonna be something he can do in the woods — Lance is gonna need to sit down and try to relax if he’s gonna make it through the morning. 

The two minute walk to the public bathrooms isn’t one of his proudest moments. Lance realizes he forgot his shoes, which is…. Admittedly kind of gross. He runs back to get them, because the prospect of stepping on a public bathroom floor is just gross enough to warrant the added discomfort of an extra thirty seconds of movement. But hey. Priorities. 

When he finally manages to get there and lets the floodgates spill open, the stinging makes him wince. He holds his breath, face scrunching up a little as things get _way_ more burny than they’ve been in a long, long time. He takes his pills to distract himself, waiting after the first stream is over to let whatever else is in there trickle out. With no phone or anything to distract him, everything is sort of clausterphobic and real — and the longer he’s left alone with his thoughts, the more the severity of the situation dawns on him. 

It’s okay though, Lance tells himself after popping a fourth painkiller. He only lets himself take several in especially terrible circumstances. Once he gets home, he’ll be able to do whatever he needs to do. 

Things take a while. A lot longer than a simple pee should take. And when he gets back to the campsite, Keith shoots him an open, friendly look of concern. He’s not too bothered — but he might sense that something’s up. But everyone around them is already busying themselves with getting breakfast ready and taking down tents, and Lance would _really_ rather not do this here.

He’s thought about it, on occasion — about how this conversation might go. “Hey Keith, remember that bladder thing I mentioned? Well it’s a chronic condition and a chunk of people diagnosed can’t work! I might be on disability when I’m older! Have I mentioned my immune system is shot, too? Or that sometimes I spend months in constant pain? I peed blood, once!”

It’s not a conversation he’s ever had with someone he’s dating. It’s not something he ever _got_ to have with Jenny — she had the wonderful luck of having his Ma explain it to her, which was a _fucking disaster_ , obviously. But the point is, he’s never done this. He has no clue what to even say. 

And Keith _loves_ him apparently, though he doesn’t know about “the incident.” Which honestly… is something he deserves to know about, at this point. As fucking terrifying as that sounds.

Thing is, in this exact moment, he can’t really say anything. It’ll probably just be better to focus on pushing through it and making it out of this morning alive. They’ve got a long car ride ahead (which definitely won’t help things) but then he’ll be free to take as much time as he needs.

“Hey,” Keith greets, tilting his head. “You were gone a while —”

“It’s fine.” Lance smiles, hoping it reaches his eyes. “I’m starving.”

He downs nearly the whole bottle of water as subtly as possible, shifting in his fold out chair as they eat to avoid putting too much pressure on things. Lance is silent — not really peeping a word, opting instead to convey a semblance of following the conversation around him, laughing and grinning when other people are, putting those attention-deficit stills to good use. It’s hard, though. To really keep track of what’s happening. Things are sort of going in one ear, and out the other.

“Dude?” Hunk whispers after breakfast, placing a solid hand on his shoulder and shielding them from everyone else. “You ok? You look —”

Lance just looks at him, right in the eye. Jaw and neck tense, locking his eyes with Hunk’s, he tries to convey what’s going on without words. Hunk gets it, staring back at him resolutely and nodding, dragging his hand up to knead a little at Lance’s neck muscles. 

“We’ll be home in a couple hours,” he says lowly. “I’ll run you a bath.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Lance whispers back. He knows it’ll fall on deaf ears.

Hunk chuckles, massaging his thumb into Lance’s upper spine in a way that’s especially comforting, even with everything else going on. “Of course I do. You’d do the same for me.”

Lance lets himself ease into it. He closes his eyes, relishing in the feel of —

“Does Keith know?” Hunk whispers, almost silent. _Fucking hell._

Lance shakes his head near-imperceptibly. “No.”

Hunk sighs. 

“Don’t —”

“It’s your business, man. All good.”

Things kind of pass by in a hazy fog. Lance’s brain isn’t working right — he took his Vyvanse, but the pain and soreness render it useless. He helps Keith with the tent, trying his best to make conversation and keep things light while simultaneously having no fucking clue what’s coming out of his mouth from one minute to the next. Eventually, his lower back starts giving out, feeling too raw and cramped, and he moves on to lighter tasks using some half-baked excuse about muscle soreness. It’s bullshit, though. Lance hopes Keith won’t see right through him. 

Though, he’s not really attentive enough to tell. 

The car ride is uncomfortable. He rests his head on Keith’s shoulder, mumbles something about being tired, and feigns sleep until they get to a gas station. Once there, he beelines for the bathroom, hoping that if he gets there quick enough, they won’t notice if he takes a long time. 

The bathrooms are single-room type deals, no stalls. _Perfect_. Lance whips his phone out to distract himself, connects to the Dep’s free Wi-Fi and brainlessly opens his messenger app to see if anyone —

… Oh. Oh shit. 

**I'm doing good. And I respect that, it's cool. I've just been thinking a lot about how I handled things lately, and I really wanted to apologize to you for how I ended it. I know I really hurt you, but I avoided dealing with it this whole time because I was scared. So if you ever change your mind, I'd really like to take you for a beer or a coffee.**

**Not like as a peace offering, but because I know you probably have some shit to say to me and I want to hear it. No pressure, though. I get it if you dont want to.**

Lance gapes at his phone, still kind of wincing at the lingering burn in his abdomen. Well, then. Turns out Jenny _wasn’t_ , in fact, ending the conversation there. 

His first instinct is to respond with a resounding “No.” Because, why? What would they have to gain from talking, after all these years? Especially right now, when he’s obviously running low on spoons and has no clue what to expect for the coming days, weeks… hell, maybe even a month. 

But the thing is… he’s kind of been wanting this. He’s been _wanting_ her to show up one day and admit to doing everything wrong because it’s what his own ego needs to let this go. But she’s not the only one that did things wrong. Everything was done wrong. It was just an utter shitshow.

He doesn’t answer it, but her message is all he can think about as he leaves the bathroom and walks out into the van in a complete cloud, detached from everything. He’s not like… dissociating. It’s not like that. It’s just _a lot_ of things to process all at once.

But hey. It’s not like these things tend to space themselves out. Lance is an absolute disaster magnet. 

And then there’s Keith — all soft and smiley as he gets in the car, brow tinged with obvious worry as Lance slinks into his seat next to him and gazes straight ahead into nothing. He reaches over to brush Lance’s knuckles with his own, and Lance _literally_ flinches, getting jerked out of his own head for a second. Damn, that can’t be a good look. 

“Hey,” Keith whispers. “Is someth —”

“Shiro,” Lance croaks, leaning forward in his seat. 

“Yeah?”

“If it’s not too much of a detour, can you bring me to my parents’ place? In Côte-des-neiges? I can give you the address.” Lance worries his lip, wracking his brain for a seemingly valid excuse. “I forgot I’m supposed to see them today. But it’s fine if not, I can metro.”

“Of course,” Shiro says, smiling. “I’ll drop you off first.”

Lance can feel Pidge and Hunk’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. He hears Keith swallow next to him, his hand tensing. 

“Lance?”

“I’m ok,” Lance manages. He doesn’t look at Keith. Lying to his face would make this a lot harder. “Don’t worry about me.” 

He slides his hand over, entwining his fingers with Keith’s and squeezing lightly. Keith’s staring at him in the corner of his eye, and Lance uses every single ounce of strength he has left to stay composed and not burst into tears. All of his is just _too fucking much_ for one morning. He needs a break. He needs Ma to cook for him and let him rest of the couch. He needs to facetime Veronica and cry and probably feel a little bit better afterward, at least on the emotional front. He might need to call his boss — if things are still not great by Wednesday, he might need to call in sick. 

Thank god for Hunk and Pidge, honestly. Through the remainder of the car ride, they take over on the conversation front and divert as much as they can. It works — the triad seems enraptured by Hunk’s wacky bakery stories, and Matt ends up joining in to keep things going. Keith though, is silent. At least he’s still holding Lance’s hand. 

By the time they reach Lance’s parents’ place, his bladder feels like it’s just about to give out, burning and full and bloated as hell. His back is sore from the sitting, a weak but noticeable burn spreading from his spine outward. His head is swimming — cycling through everything and not settling on one thing, unable to focus at all. It’s not gonna be an easy flare, he can tell already. God knows what the next couple weeks will look like. 

“Your stop,” Shiro says casually, leaning over the driver’s seat to shoot him a smile. 

“Thanks, Shiro,” Lance manages. He turns to look at Keith, finally, taking in the obvious expression of worry, the knitted brows and wide eyes and the way he looks at Lance like a lost puppy. It breaks Lance’s heart, because there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it right now. He doesn’t want to burden Keith with this — it isn’t his problem, and Lance has dealt with this kind of thing countless times before without the help of a significant other. He _had_ to. It’s not like he was ever given the choice. But maybe things are better that way. 

“Bye, Keith.” Lance wraps him into a hug for as long as his body lets him.

“Call me,” Keith whispers into his ear. “Please.”

He doesn’t say anything back. 

Instead, he kisses him lightly on his temple, before pulling away and shooting goodbyes at everyone else in the car. He thanks Shiro for the drive, grabs his bag, and leaves without glancing back. 

Ringing the doorbell and waiting for someone to answer would probably take longer than he’s comfortable with. Instead, Lance unlocks the door and barrels through, kicking off his shoes and beelining straight to the bathroom. Someone’s home — he can tell by the lights and the radio playing in the living room. But he doesn’t stop to check.

Once on the toilet, he lets everything out at once. At this point, nothing seems coherent anymore — it’s just a mishmash of everything, making him feel way too overwhelmed and culminating in muffled sobs, running his hands down his face. And the pain is just… _so not good_. It’s _really_ fucking with his head in ways that are definitely making this harder than it needs to be. But that’s life, isn’t it? Brain, body, emotions, whatever — it takes a ton of effort to maintain that delicate balance that keeps them all working right. If just one of them gets out of whack, the entire thing crumbles. And it’s way, _way_ too easy to let that happen, when you’re not paying attention. 

“Lancito?” His mother’s voice comes through the other side of the bathroom door, soothing as it always is. At this point, she’s used to this kind of thing. “Estas bien?”

Lance sniffs, pressing his palms to his eyes in an attempt to calm down. He takes a breath. “No, la verdad que no Ma.”

“Okay, es el-“

“Si, si...duele bastante.”

“Esta bien cariño. Tomate tu tiempo, hay arvejas adentro del congelador, y te puedo hacer una sopa de papas más tarde si quieres. Tienes hambre?”

“No todavía.”

“Bueno. Pero teneme al tanto.”

~~~

 **Keith**  
SUN 9:45 PM  
>hey. You ok? A little worried

11:56 PM  
>i hope everything’s alright  
>goodnight Lance

12:04 AM  
>💙  
. . .

MON 9:38 AM  
>good morning  
> _picture message: 2.3MB_  
>kosmo says hi

12:45 PM  
>hello?

7:46 PM  
>please what’s going on

7:49 PM  
_2 Missed calls_

9:45 PM  
>im kinda freaked out lance what is going on  
>calling pidge

9:56 PM  
>she says you never came home???  
>what the fuck lance?

12:57 AM  
>was it something i did?

2:06 AM  
>goodnight  
>💙  
. . .

TUE 9:45 AM  
>i want to talk about this  
>i cant keep guessing  
>please

12:45 PM  
>gonna talk to hunk and pidge after work  
>im really worried

5:17 PM  
>i am this close to coming to your parents place  
>if you dont answer me  
>im gonna do it

. . .

Keith is honestly kind of proud of himself for not losing his entire mind. 

At least, not noticeably. The entire contents of his head have been spinning with anxiety for the past couple days, but thankfully, he managed to restrain himself at least a little bit in the texting and calling department. Because as pissed as he is, and as terrified as he feels, he _still_ doesn’t want to freak Lance out with a ridiculous number of unanswered texts and missed calls, in the event that Lance has a… legitimate reason for ghosting him, Keith wouldn’t want to make it worse by spamming his phone every time he feels a pang of worry. 

At the same time though… what the actual hell? Like, Keith is _justified_ in feeling completely fucked up over this! It’s not his fault his brain latches on to the absolute worst case scenario when he doesn’t fully know or understand what’s going on. It’s like since the moment Lance stepped out of Shiro’s van on Sunday, Keith’s brain has been cycling through worry, self-blame, and anger at Lance for not clarifying things. 

What if he came on too strong? Sure, Lance was okay with things and easy going about it after the L-word fiasco, but what if Keith did in fact scare him off? Or worse, what if he hurt him? And Lance was too scared to tell Keith about it?

It’s a mess. All of it is a mess, and the fact that Keith can’t even tell how much of it is his own fault is making it worse. It’s kind of unfortunate that Hunk and Pidge have to deal with all of this right now. 

He bangs on their back door with more force than necessary, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Keith biked straight to their place from work, all the unanswered messages on his phone burning a hole in his back pocket. He barely cleaned the bike grease off his hands in his haste to just get the hell out and find answers. His fist leaves a smudge on the door’s glass window pane. 

Acxa and Kolivan had grown worried for him. Earlier today, Acxa offered to message Veronica about it, to see if she could help out. But as much as Keith would have loved to find answers by any means necessary, he also knew that Veronica would be unlikely to spill if she happened to know something. Keith may not have known Lance long, but he knows the kind of loyalty he and his sister share. He’ll feel better if he doesn’t test it.

Pidge just stands there when she opens the door, brows knitted with concern. Keith tries his best not to interpret her expression as pitying, but it’s kind of difficult right now. She doesn’t say anything, moving aside instead and ushering him into their kitchen where Hunk is brewing a pot of tea. 

Pidge gestures lamely at the kitchen table. “Have a seat —”

“No,” Keith answers abruptly, his shoulders tensing. “I’m not staying long, I just wanna know what the fuck is going on.”

“I made tea though,” Hunk cuts in, his expression entirely too friendly and concerned.

“He didn’t tell us either,” Pidge sighs, taking a seat at the table. “I know about as much as you do.”

“That’s bullshit,” Keith spits out, almost wincing at his tone. Pidge’s jaw tenses, though it doesn’t seem to be out of anger. It’s something like sympathy. Amost. 

“You know him, you guys know things,” Keith hears himself continuing, unsure of what’s going to come out of his mouth next. “I have _no idea_ what’s happening, this isn’t like Lance.”

Hunk bites his lip. “... You sure about that?”

“What?”

“Like… I dunno, Lance isn’t great at…”

Hunk trails off, pursing his lips.

“At what?!” 

“He’s not great at opening up,” Pidge finishes. “It’s okay, Keith, sometimes things take time —”

“IT’S NOT OKAY!” 

Keith shuts his eyes tight at the deafening silence that follows. _Fuck_ , it’s getting hard to keep a lid on things right now. Hunk and Pidge don’t deserve this, they’re only trying their best. But that doesn’t make all of this okay.

“Keith —”

“ _Why are you enabling him?_ ” It takes a lot of effort to keep things at a reasonable volume, but he’s going to try anyway. “It’s not okay to shut people out —”

The anxious voice in his head he’s been grappling with for days reminds him that this might be his own fault. It might be _something_ he did, and just didn’t realize at the time. But that’s… you know what? That doesn’t really make sense. There’s nothing wrong with telling someone you love them. Even if they don’t say it back. 

“You can sit down,” Hunk offers. 

“No,” Keith shakes his head, glancing back and forth between them. “Thanks, but no. I’m not staying. What’s his parents’ address?”

“I…” Pidge starts, casting a worried look at Hunk. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“See?” Keith spits out, nearly on the verge of exploding. “You guys _know_ what’s going on and you’re not telling me. I don’t… I’m sorry I haven’t been around long enough to get all the fucking nuances, but I care about Lance as much as you do. I _love him_. Okay? I love him, and he knows, and he’s fucking _doing this_ to me even though he knows. What the fuck kind of person does that?”

By the time Keith is done, his voice is nearly too hoarse to continue. He feels his eyes sting, a ball of tension growing bigger and bigger in his throat. 

Pidge blinks, looking so utterly conflicted Keith’s heart kind of breaks for her. “He probably just needed some space —”

“No. No that — that makes no fucking sense. That’s not _Lance_! He never needs space!”

“Keith…”

“What?!”

“How much has he told you about the… bladder stuff?”

Keith blinks, processing. He wills himself to calm down and listen, taking almost all the energy he has. “I dunno… a bit. Didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“It’s kind of a big deal,” Pidge says plainly. “Sometimes.”

“... What?”

“His ex…” Hunk chimes in wringing his hands. “She left when things got bad. He was probably scared of you knowing —”

Whatever else he says drowns out into white noise. Because Keith’s already out the door. 

He’s barely processed it by the time he makes it back to his place, pedalling furiously and dodging cars in a way that would make his neurologist literally crap her pants. Because the thing is, Keith’s been around Lance long enough to know that he’s definitely hiding things. He's caught onto the little tidbits that have been dropped here and there, but the full force of it never fully hit him until now. Because _of course_. Of course that’s what this is. Lance wants to do everything for other people. And he can’t stand the idea of being a burden. 

Keith gets this, because he knows what it’s like. He’s been there — in a situation where his life spiralled out of control and took everyone around him with it. And he _still_ wrestles with the guilt, and feeling terrible for making their lives worse. But at least Keith’s loved ones never left. If they had…

Well. It would definitely suck.

Maybe he’s crazy for doing what he’s about to do, but maybe that’s what Lance needs: someone crazy enough to _insist_ on sticking around, no matter how bad things get. Something in the back of his mind is telling him that showing up at his family home unannounced would be infinitely better than letting Lance get away with thinking that Keith doesn’t want to know _everything_ about him — the good things, and the things that are bad enough to try and keep hidden.

He’s still pissed, though. There’s no doubt about that really. But at least he kind of gets it now… sort of. Lance is gonna have a ton of explaining to do.

The second he crashes through his front door, Keith whips out his cell phone. Shiro picks up after only three rings. 

“ _Keith? What’s —_ ”

“Can you give me and Kosmo a lift to Lance’s parents’ place?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Like, right now?”

“ _Uh… I’m about to see a client, but Adam can?_ ”

Okay. Not ideal. This is gonna be _way_ more embarrassing if Adam knows about it. 

Fuck it, though. It’s not like Keith cares right now. 

“Sure. That works.”

“ _Can I ask what this is about?_ ”

“No.” Honestly, Keith technically doesn’t know what it’s about either. 

“ _Oookay?_ ”

“Tell you later. Bye, Shiro.”

“ _... Bye Keith._ ”

“And… thanks. Love you.”

Keith hangs up, sweating. 

His dog is by his side in a second, wagging his tail and nudging gently at his hand. Keith looks down at him, unable to stop himself from smiling. He may be absolutely stressed out of his fucking mind, but at least he’s got his buddy by his side. Sure, showing up with an animal might make this even weirder, but… Keith’s a weird dude, that’s kind of something he’s accepted at this point. Sue him. 

Whether he’s bringing Kosmo with him for Lance’s sake or his own, he’s not entirely sure. But it probably won’t hurt either way. 

Adam shoots him a text only moments later, giving him a fifteen-minute ETA. Damn, must mean he literally jumped into action the minute Shiro called on him. It makes sense, honestly, given what Keith knows about Adam. He’s kind of a sucker for a good love story.

Two of those fifteen minutes are spent washing the bike grease off his limbs. Ten minutes are spent changing out of his work clothes into something more… presentable. Fuck Lance, honestly, for making Keith care about dressing himself. He has no experience in this department, and it shows. 

On the one hand, the tattoos might freak Lance’s parents out more than they probably will already, what with the stranger showing up out of nowhere with a big dog. On the other hand, it’s July — it’s fucking hot lately, and Keith would rather die than wear long sleeves in near 30-degree weather. Keith decides to opt for a black t-shirt, figuring that he’ll hide the knife on his inner forearm and hope they only really see the much more innocuous forest scene decorating most of his sleeve. 

His phone vibrates on the bed, and Keith’s heart jumps into his throat. Okay, cool. Looks like this is a thing he’s doing. 

“Tell me what this is about,” Adam demands the moment Keith slips into the car, Kosmo sitting comfortably in the back seat, his harness secured safely to the seatbelt. Adam crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

“It’s fine,” Keith replies, a little too quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Does your mom know about this?”

“Wha? No —”

“Okay, so it’s our job to make sure you’re not doing something completely stupid,” he finishes. Keith scowls.

“Uh… What do you mean, ‘our’ —”

“ _Hey buddy!_ ” Curtis’ voice echoes through the car’s speakerphone, cheery as ever. Kosmo barks. “ _And hey, Kosmo! Who’s a good boy?_ ”

“ _Rrrap!_ ”

“W-what?!” Keith sputters. “Why?!”

“ _Adam’s too soft, he’ll let you get away with anything. I’m here to make sure he’s not enabling you._ ”

Adam frowns. “He was too anxious to know what’s going on, despite being _at work_.” He shoots a stern _look_ at his phone on the dashboard, as if Curtis would be able to see. Wow, and Keith thought he was weird. 

“ _That too_.”

“Go on,” Adam insists, gesturing a little. “Tell us.”

“Uuuh,” Keith sighs, running a hand through his hair. He leans back in his chair, staring out the window. “Okay, I don’t really know. But… Lance has been ghosting me for a few days. And it’s been driving me crazy. But I talked to Hunk and Pidge and apparently…”

“He’s been ghosting you and you want to show up at his family home unannounced?” When Keith glances at him, Adam raises an eyebrow. 

“ _That’s one way of doing things,_ ” Curtis’ disembodied voice chimes in. 

Shaking his head, Keith wills himself to continue. “Hunk and Pidge told me that he’s got… I dunno, I think he’s sick or something. He’s sort of mentioned it, but he never really got into things. And after talking to Hunk and Pidge, I’m pretty sure he’s scared of me finding out.”

“And why would that be?”

“Because whatever it is, his ex left him because of it. And I think he’s scared I might, too.”

The near silence that follows is only broken by Kosmo’s rhythmic panting in the backseat. Adam purses his lips, considering. “And you wouldn’t, right?”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“ _You wouldn’t leave him because he’s sick, right_?”

“I —” Keith sputters, throat going dry. “I — of course I wouldn’t do that. I don’t — I have no idea what’s gonna happen. Like, maybe things work out, maybe they don’t. But I wouldn’t leave over something like that.”

“Hm?”

“I dunno, I can’t imagine doing that. Not after everything you guys have done for me.”

It takes a moment, and it’s subtle at first, but a small smile breaks through Adam’s hardened gaze. “Alright, then.”

“Okay?”

“ _Yep. Adam, drive._ ”

“Way ahead of you, love,” Adam chuckles as he pulls out into the street. 

Keith’s chest tenses as he watches the world pass through the window. Elbow resting on the door next to him, he fiddles with his hair absently, chewing at his bottom lip. Maybe he should have rode in the back with Kosmo. That might make things less terrifying. 

“ _Fix your hair, Keith,_ ” Curtis interjects over the phone. 

“What?”

“ _It’s probably messy. Make sure you look presentable._ ”

Keith scowls. “It’s fine!”

“You sound like me,” Adam mutters.

“Yeah!”

“ _Adam, is it messy?”_

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Adam gives him a once-over. 

“It’s messy, Keith. Fix it.”

“Ugh! Fine!” 

“Don’t want Lance’s parents to think you rolled in off the street. Look presentable, at least.”

Keith grumbles something unintelligible as reties his hair, taking more care than he usually does in smoothing down any loose strands. He’s grateful Lance fixed up his undercut only a week and a half earlier. It had been getting a little shaggy.

“Do I look okay now?”

Adam chuckles. “You always look okay Keith. But you’re a little punk-y at times, and if Lance’s parents are anything like mine or Curtis,’ they might need to get used to that. Especially with the tattoos.”

“Lance has a tattoo,” Keith grumbles. 

“ _He has a tiny shark on his shoulder. You have a sleeve with a big wolf and a knife —_ ”

“Okay fine, I get it.”

Keith crosses his arms, staring resolutely out the window. 

“It’ll be okay,” Adam adds, all calm as if Keith’s stomach weren’t doing backflips right now. “You’re doing the right thing.”

He bites his lip, considering. “You think so?”

“ _Your methods are definitely… unconventional,_ ” Curtis chuckles. “ _But you get things done, Keith. We’ve always admired that about you._ ”

Adam chuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m about to shit myself,” Keith answers honestly. 

“And you’re doing it anyway. If that’s not courage, I don’t know what is.”

A tiny smile breaks out onto Keith’s face. He leans his cheek into his palm, still staring out the window as they turn onto rue Victoria, moving under the underpass. They’re in Côte-des-neiges, now. They’re close.

“Thank you,” Keith mumbles, swallowing down his own anxieties. “I really appreciate all of this.”

“ _Don’t mention it,_ ” Curtis replies instantly. “ _We’re family. It’s what we do._ ”

“Also, your mom doesn’t have a car. You need at least one designated chauffer, Keith. For emergencies.”

“Please don’t tell my mom about this.”

“ _We won’t, promise. We’re telling Tak though._ ”

Adam snorts. “Oh yeah, definitely. He’ll be so proud of you.”

Smiling into his palm even wider than before, Keith huffs out a small laugh. Don’t get him wrong, he still feels out of his mind, but a little validation is… nice.

“Kay. Tell him… Tell him thanks.”

“He’s not the one driving you,” Adam quips. 

Grinning slightly into his palm, Keith continues staring out the window. Despite the unconditional support of his triad of brother/dads, he’s still a little weary about showing up at Lance’s family home unannounced without any real idea of what to expect. Like, he hasn’t even considered what he’s going to say once he’s actually _in_ the house… provided they let him in, of course. If Lance answers the door, Keith might be mildly relieved for about two seconds before his brain is overrun with either anger or crippling social anxiety. And if Lance’s mother or father answers the door… he has literally no idea what he would even say. “Hi, I’m Keith and I _might_ be your son’s boyfriend. This is my large dog. Lance has been ghosting me since Sunday, so I decided to show up at your house.” 

There is absolutely no script for any of it. This might just be the dumbest thing Keith’s ever done in his life. 

“Your stop,” Adam announces, ripping Keith out of his head. “Do you want me to stay until you get in, or —”

“No, no, please leave,” Keith replies, shaking his head. Having Adam wave goodbye at him in front of Lance’s family members might be just enough to tip this whole thing from “kinda weird” into “pretty fucking weird” territory. “Thanks, though. I appreciate it.”

Curtis clears his throat over the speaker phone.

“And thanks Curtis,” Keith adds, his lip twitching. 

“ _You’re very welcome, Keith._ ”

Adam huffs. “You didn’t do anything.”

“ _Excuse me, I did everything —_ ”

Keith leaves before he can hear the end of their argument, knowing that if he lingers in the car, he’ll only want to book it instead of following through. He opens the back door, unclips Kosmo’s harness from the seatbelt, and ushers him out. 

“Bye guys.” 

He turns to the house after closing the car door. It’s a cute, small semi-detached home with a flower garden up front and several benches and chairs for when Lance’s parents have a drink with their other retired neighbours. From what Lance has told him, Lance’s parents live on the left, and Marco’s family is on the right — evidenced by the kid-sized bikes on one side of the porch. Keith takes a deep breath, trying to get ahold of his nerves as he makes his way up to the door. 

Kosmo trots along next to him, wagging his tail. He’s clearly excited about what he’s probably interpreting as a fun adventure and not one of Keith’s more… risky life choices. But whatever, his enthusiasm is somewhat contagious, and definitely helps with the nerves to an extent. 

The lights are on inside — Keith can sort of tell from where he’s standing. He looks down at Kosmo by his heel, giving him one last pat. 

“Okay, boy. You gonna be good?”

“ _Rap!_ ”

“Cool,” Keith mumbles, rolling his shoulders back and reaching for the doorbell, his fingers only _slightly_ shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith: wow i'm really handling myself well in this stressful situation
> 
> also Keith: yells at Hunk and Pidge, smears bike grease everywhere, crashes Lance's parents' home on a Tuesday evening
> 
> Keith: i'm doing SO good
> 
> hehehehe sorry abt cliffhangers! the next chap has a lot of things in it, and i felt like it'd be better to separate things here.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!!!! And thanks for all the comments/messages/tumblr noties. I appreciate all of you. Also, I'm currently working on the triad oneshot and another klance oneshot! Hopefully I'll be able to finish them eventually in between updating this fic and doing school and eating and sleeping. We'll seeeee!
> 
> Hope you have a wonderful weekend xxxx
> 
>  **Spanish to English translation** :  
> "Are you okay?"
> 
> "No, not really, Ma. No."
> 
> "Okay... is it --"
> 
> "Yeah. Yeah, it's painful."
> 
> "Okay sweetie. Take your time, I have some peas in the freezer and I'm going to make potato soup later. Are you hungry?"
> 
> "Not really."
> 
> "Okay. Just let me know."


	13. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take your time, it’s okay.” It’s getting a little hard to remain calm. Fortunately, though, Lance breaks the silence.
> 
> “That’s not… that’s not really what happened.”
> 
> “What’s not —”
> 
> “I think — she didn’t leave me because I got sick, Keith,” Lance says carefully, his voice incredibly weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [post-posting edit: FFFF I HIT 100K BY ACCIDENT. lmaolmaolmao oh god it's so long i didn't realize that was gonna happen. this is the longest thing i have ever written in my life, fam. a gay fanfic about climbing and bladder pain. gonna take a while to sink in.]
> 
> Hey! Remember me?
> 
> I didn't actually go anywhere. I've literally been writing this chapter for the past month, in between all the other slew of 20-something year-old adult responsibilities including waking up for class, helping my boss fix a website that one dude fucked up, meal prepping batches of 20 taquitos, and convincing my roommates to get their cat's butt shaved. You know, normal stuff. 
> 
> Chapters 13 and 14 were originally going to be one chapter, but once this first part reached 10k I was like lmao no way I am waiting another month to get the rest out. I think things actually work a lot better like this, in the end. 
> 
> This chapter took a lot of work. And by that, I mean it's got some heavier subject matter than most chapters, and I couldn't really just bang it out on a whim. CWs for a long conversation about past traumas, brain injuries, mood disorders, depression, codependency, loneliness, and, of course, bladder stuff. Naturally, though, I _really_ can't let things stay angsty for long, so I wouldn't classify this chapter as a whumpy one. 
> 
> Big thanks again to laomedeia (@lao-medeia) for the Spanish translations! English sentences are in the end notes. 
> 
> Happy reading :)

Keith hasn’t even touched the doorbell yet when he starts regretting everything. 

“Holy shit,” he mumbles to himself, arm still outstretched. “This is a fucking terrible idea.”

Unfortunately for him, when he turns back around to try and signal to Adam that he is most definitely backing out, the car is already gone. Kosmo whines impatiently at Keith’s foot, tilting his head inquisitively. 

“Fuck,” Keith mumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s effectively stuck — no cab is going to take Kosmo, and the transit system won’t accept him without his “emotional support animal” vest. They _could_ walk home — it might take an hour or two, but they could hypothetically do it. It’s not like Kosmo hasn’t walked that long befo —

“Hello?”

Keith’s head shoots up at the now open door in front of him, where a stout and seemingly confused woman is standing, purse in hand. Something about her is definitely _familiar_ , in that distinct way that people related to people you already know very well seem familiar. She’s Lance’s mother, Keith concludes easily. There’s no one else she could be. 

“Uhh —”

Great. Great start, Keith. Good job. 

“Hi.” 

She gives him a quick up and down, eyes trailing down to Kosmo at his side, and back to him. Keith doesn’t miss how her gaze catches on his inked up arm for a second.

“Can I help you?”

“I, uh — is Lance home?” Keith tries his damndest not to cringe too hard at himself. Something about this entire thing is making him feel like a fourteen year-old. 

Lance’s mom blinks, brows rising slightly. 

“Yes, he’s home,” she says carefully. Keith picks up on her accent clearly this time. 

“I’m Keith, I’m —” 

The words die out on his tongue. Because honestly, what is he, really? I’m Keith. I’m in love with your son, doesn’t seem like the most tactful way to go about this. 

Lance mentioned they don’t know about him yet. They have literally no idea he exists, and now he’s showing up at their door unannounced. 

“I’m a friend.” 

Goddammit. Why the fuck is this so hard.

He swallows, steadying himself. “I wanted to check up on him. Brought my dog, ‘cause… Lance likes him. Thought he could help him feel better.”

He’s not even sure if any of that made sense. But before Keith can even start running over his words to see where he fucked up, Lance’s mom is beaming up at him and yanking him inside by the forearm.

“OOOOH! He’s been so grumpy for days, this is so nice of you.” She shuffles him inside, holding the door open for Kosmo to trot through. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m running some errands, but I will be back later.”

Keith releases a strangled noise from his throat, nearly tripping over himself in the mudroom. His dog prances by, completely unfazed by their new surroundings and plops himself down in the hall. 

“Uh —”

“Leandro’s in the basement!” she calls after him, shutting the front door. After only a split second, it opens again and her head pokes through. “Are you staying for dinner, Keith?”

Keith blinks, only one shoe removed. “Uh… sure?”

“Do you eat meat?”

“... Yeah?”

“Perfect, allergies?”

“Shellfish?”

“Ok, I’m making chicken. See you soon!”

She shuts the door once more, and Keith nearly gets a migraine from the whiplash of going from stranger to dinner guest in what must have been 25 seconds. 

… Could have gone worse, though. 

Once shoeless, Keith makes his way into the house quietly, taking it in. It’s a similar brand of organized chaos as Lance’s room — photos everywhere, books and newspapers strewn about the coffee table, many patterned throw pillows and blankets donning the sofa and loveseat. Among the framed family photos on the wall is a Cuban Flag — not massive by any means, but still kinda big. The walls are kind of a light teal, something Keith’s never seen on walls before. But it’s pretty nice, honestly. It feels like a home. 

Keith looks around for a staircase to the basement, finding one just off the kitchen. The faint hum from what must be a TV dances its way up to his ears, and Keith feels a sudden twinge of apprehension. Lance is _here_. He’s maybe only a few metres away, and Keith has no idea what to expect. 

He’s still mad. He’s definitely still hurt, too. But the fact that Keith is _this_ close to getting answers is an honest relief. 

He takes a deep breath, shakes it off, and keeps going. 

The basement’s dimly lit, and the TV seems to be on some sort of nature channel. Keith doesn’t see Lance at first, but his sleeping figure comes into view as Keith approaches the back of the couch. He’s curled up on it, hugging a throw pillow under his head. A heating pad is nestled against his lower abdomen. 

Okay. Keith has absolutely no fucking clue what to do next. 

He sits down on the floor, is what he ends up doing, back pressed up against the couch, Lance sleeping above his shoulders. Kosmo follows him, settling down and resting his head in his lap. Scratching behind Kosmo’s ears, Keith chances a glance over at Lance’s sleeping face, completely relaxed. He hasn’t really moved since Keith showed up.

Seeing him all curled up and vulnerable, the hot pad near his stomach an obvious sign that something’s not right, is making it hard for Keith to stay mad. He’s determined to stay mad, though, because he has a right to be. But that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. 

Keith reaches over to the remote, lowers the volume on the TV and sits back, leaning his head back a little against the couch cushions. He keeps an eye trailed on Lance occasionally, in between watching the nature doc about birds and patting Kosmo, and this are relatively calm for a while. Definitely several minutes at least. 

He could literally be freaking out right now. Keith has no clue what he’s gonna say when Lance wakes up, or how they’re conversation might go. But this — right now — is serene and peaceful, like the calm before the storm. And who knows how much of it Keith has left. He’s going to enjoy it. 

After some time, Keith feels something on his head. He looks up, head tilting upward a little as it rests against the sofa, and notes that Lance’s fingers are carding through his hair in kind of an absent-minded fashion. His breath hitches, a bundle of nerves tightening itself in his gut as he blinks a couple times and turns his head, finally. Lance is looking at him with sleepy, lidded eyes when he meets his gaze, his expression almost neutral. Almost — save the tiniest fraction of a smile tugging one corner of his lip. 

“What’re you doin’ here?”

Surprisingly, Lance’s tone lacks any sort of shock. Keith thought that at the very least, he’d be a little taken aback to find him in his family home, of all places. At best, it would fluster him. At worst, maybe make him a little mad.

“I — you’re not pissed?”

Lance blinks, his hand falling away from Keith’s tresses onto the couch. He exhales, looking away at the TV. 

“I’m… not really anything right now.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have enough juice in me to be pissed, Keith. It’s whatever.”

Woah. Okay. In the short time they’ve known each other, Keith’s seen Lance in varying emotional states. This, though… this is weird.

Keith swallows, setting his jaw tight. “Are you okay?”

Lance lets out a humourless laugh, still not looking at Keith. “I’m fine.”

“Is there stuff you haven’t been telling me?”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, Lance’s face twists up, brow furrowing. He still isn’t looking at Keith.

“Lance?”

“... Yeah. Yeah there’s stuff.”

“... Okay. What is it?”

“I’m not telling you. That’s the point.”

Keith huffs out a groan, rolling his eyes. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Would it help if I said it won’t change anything?”

That one gets him somewhere. Lance startles, glancing back at him. Something conflicted dusts over his expression, his mouth opening, shutting, and opening once more. 

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” Keith retorts, as evenly as he can manage. “No, I don’t. But whatever it is, I want to know because I don’t like guessing. I just assume the worst.”

Lance frowns, meeting Keith’s eyes. “What's the ‘worst,’ then? What’s your worst case scenario right now?”

Keith scowls. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not deflecting, I’m just asking a question —”

“Fuck you!” A sudden wave of anger ripples through him. He jerks himself up, whipping his body around to face Lance. “Fuck YOU! I was so FUCKING worried about you, and you’ve been ignoring me for three days. Did you think I just wouldn’t care?”

Lance bites his lip, eyes suddenly wet. And shit. _Shit_ , he made Lance cry. That… feels especially terrible. 

“Shit, I — no wait,” Keith scrambles onto his knees, hands tentatively reaching out and pulling back like he has absolutely nothing to do with them. Kosmo, though, is in his element as he gets up and manoeuvres himself under Keith’s arm, nuzzling his t-shirt a little. At the sight of Lance brimming with tears, though, he leans forward and rests his snout on the couch, nosing at Lance’s hand. 

Keith steadies himself, collecting his thoughts. 

“I didn’t mean —”

“Yeah,” Lance interrupts, sniffing. He wipes at his eyes definitely with one hand, the other lifting to scratch behind Kosmo’s ears. “Yeah, you meant it.”

“I —”

“It’s okay,” he manages, blinking up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “It’s okay, I deserve it. I’m an asshole.”

“What?” Keith breathes, eyes widening. “No —”

“ _Yes_ ,” Lance insists, frowning at him. “I shouldn’t have ignored you, and I did. Because I’m an asshole.”

“... What?”

“Is this it then?” Lance asks, his voice cracking. “Is this where you dump me in my parents’ basement? ‘Cause if that’s what’s gonna happen, I’d rather you get it over —”

“WHAT?!” Keith spews. “What the fuck gave you that idea? Are you insane?”

Lance blinks. “You’re… not —”

“Lance, I didn’t come all the way to fucking Cote-des-Neiges on a Tuesday to break up with you, you IDIOT!”

Keith’s only met with a dumbfounded expression and wide eyes. “What… what did you —”

“I came to see if you were ALIVE!”

“... Oh.”

Shuffling uncomfortably on the couch, looking like he wants it to swallow him whole, Lance purses his lips. “Okay... alright. This is awkward.”

“We are _not_ breaking up over this,” Keith grits out. “That would be so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah?” Lance retorts. “You don’t even know what —”

“There is not a single fucking thing you could tell me that would make me want to dump you. So just… I dunno, just take that and accept it.”

Near-silence washes over them, save only for Kosmo’s panting. Lance just stares at him, still kind of unsure and kind of teary-eyed. Keith just waits one, two, five seconds for him to say _something_ because his heart is about to leap out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer —

“Yeah?” Lance whispers. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Keith huffs, sitting back on his haunches. “I — You’re — you’re driving me insane right now. But, I like you… a lot. I wanna be with you. So… yeah.”

Lance blinks. “Why?”

“Huh?”

“What do you like about me?”

Keith stares at him, their eyes locked together as Lance pushes himself up a little off the pillow to lean against the sofa’s armrest. How is Keith even supposed to answer that? How could he find any sort of words to describe it?

He almost says this — because words are scary and saying things out loud tends to make things feel incredibly real. But it dawns on Keith that Lance is asking because he doesn’t know. He has no idea what Keith could see in him. That’s why he disappeared the past few days — that’s why he opted to suffer in private. And that… that might just be the worst part of all of this. Because if Lance doesn’t think he’s worth loving — 

It would break Keith’s heart. Because he’s sure as shit Lance doesn’t deserve to feel like that. No one ever does.

“I — okay,” Keith says, running a hand through his hair. Some strands fall in front of his face as he levels Lance’s gaze and sets his shoulders straight. “You… you’re kind. You’re… uh,”

“Take your time,” Lance interrupts, a smirk creeping over his features. _Thank god_. His eyes are still a little wet, but at least he’s smiling. “Don’t wear yourself out.”

Keith takes a deep breath, reminding himself that Lance deserves to hear it, no matter how terrible he is at talking on the spot. 

“You’re so… full of love for everyone. It just — I dunno if you notice, but the way you treat your friends, your family, it’s just — I’ve never seen that before, Lance. It’s like wherever you go, you manage to make friends because you’re just so… so great to be around? You make people feel so accepted, and it’s — it’s amazing. I’ve known you like, two? Three months? And I’m more comfortable around you than with people I’ve known my whole life.”

Lance’s breath hitches. A deep blush dusts over his features as he blinks away a couple tears, sinking back into the armrest.

“It’s not just me, alright? Hunk, Pidge… they love you too. Because they just — I dunno, I’m shit at explaining it, but —”

“No,” Lance interjects, swallowing. “No you’re not shit at explaining it.”

He reaches over into the space between them, placing a hand on Keith’s neck, thumb lightly tracing his jawline. 

Keith’s not done though. He’s not stopping until he’s said everything. 

“I wish — I wish you saw yourself like I see you. You’re my favourite person I’ve ever met.”

Lance looks like he’s about to cry again. 

“How could I not fall in love with you?”

“Keith,” Lance interjects, sitting up and pulling Keith over to his face. “You need to shut up.”

And before Keith can even blink, he’s kissing him. 

It’s firm and tight-lipped, Lance’s mouth settling nicely around Keith’s lower lip. He pulls back with a slight _smack_ and rests his forehead against Keith’s, breathing in the same air.

“I… I don’t think I can manage a big fucking speech right now,” Lance mumbles into his mouth, chuckling. “But —” He takes a sharp inhale, pulling back to get a good look at Keith’s face, trailing his thumb along his jaw. “I love you too. And — I’m so sorry I ignored you. It was stupid, you didn’t deserve that.”

Keith honestly kind of forgot about the two and a half days of ghosting. He’s not even sure he can _remember_ it right now, not with Lance’s “I love you” bouncing around in his head like a ping pong ball. Holy _shit_. What the fuck is going _on?_

“I thought — I thought you weren’t ready —”

“Maybe I’m not,” Lance laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit though. I love you so fucking much.”

Well. Keith can definitely work with that.

The next time they kiss, Kosmo decides he wants in on the action. Before they can really get into it, his tongue licks a thick stripe against Keith’s face, the sudden unmistakable odour of dog breath permeating his nostrils. 

“Uuuuuugh,” Keith groans, pulling back and wiping his cheek. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Quit trying to steal my boyfriend Kosmo —”

“Ew,” Keith grunts. “He’s like… my son.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. And suddenly, realization hits Keith at full force. He stops wiping his face, blinking his eyes open wide. 

“You… you called me your ‘boyfriend,’”

“I did,” Lance grins. “I definitely did.”

“You’ve never done that.”

“I know. Because I’m a fucking dumbass.”

This time, Keith’s the one that’s laughing. 

It’s only a few minutes later, when he’s nestled comfortably between Lance’s legs on the couch, one hand around his torso, head resting on his chest, that Keith realizes they didn’t really talk about all of it. Not the thing he came here for, at least. 

“You wanna know what happened?” Lance asks, reading his mind. He looks down at Keith, running a lazy hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, if you want.”

Lance sighs, brow furrowing. “I — I’m not sure where to start.”

“Start with Sunday, and then… I dunno, then the rest.”

“Okay,” Lance starts, biting his lip. “I lost my phone. In the gas station bathroom.”

Keith blinks. “Oh —”

“They actually found it, I talked to them. They’re mailing it over here, but it takes a couple days. But… I lost it ‘cause I was… distracted. I was in a really weird place.”

Keith nods. “You seemed a little off.”

“Yeah,” Lance huffs, bringing an arm around Keith. His thumb strokes against his bicep absentmindedly. “I woke up with a flare, and my ex messaged me again.”

“Okay…” Keith nods again, trying to think of which part he wants to ask about first. “What’s a flare?”

“It’s —” Lance sighs, staring up at the ceiling. “You know the bladder thing?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s when my bladder lining gets super irritated. It gets, like… a bunch of small cuts in it, and it’s all inflamed. It just… It _hurts_ , kinda feels like a UTI. And sometimes it lasts days, maybe even weeks.”

Keith blinks. That… Okay, that sounds kinda horrifying.

“Why… why does that happen?”

Lance shrugs. "Bad luck? Genetics? Who knows, honestly. It's an autoimmune thing and I'll probably deal with it the rest of my life. I can manage it by avoiding triggers, but… that can be hard."

Keith nods against his chest, processing. “Are triggers like, food?”

“Bunch of things, honestly. We’ve talked about it a little, but food is one thing. Exercising my pelvic muscles too hard is another thing. If I eat too much of the wrong thing, like beer, or tomatoes, or I move the wrong way, I could trigger it. Sex, too. Especially bottoming, that probably didn’t help. And who knows what was in the lake water —” 

“So,” Keith raises an eyebrow. “It could have been literally anything you did this weekend?”

“Yep,” Lance affirms, popping the ‘p.’ “I was… risky.”

“Wow,” Keith deadpans. “Smart.”

Lance snorts. He almost stops there, but descends into a fit of cackles after only a second. Keith grins, laughing along because honestly if _this_ is what Lance was so worried about sharing —

“FUCK!” Lance yells suddenly, his hips jerking upward into Keith’s side. 

“Uh — what was that?”

Lance is still wheezing out a couple laughs, he opens his mouth, face twisting and swears again under his breath. 

“Lance?”

“They’re — they’re just spasms! It’s cool.”

“... _What?_ ”

“Ffff,” Lance shakes his head, grinning wide. He looks kind of delirious at this point, the laughs not abating for a second. “It’s like — it’s when it feels like someone’s poking a needle up my groin.”

“What — what the fuck?”

“It’s cool!” More laughs. “It’s just the flare, I’m fine.”

He waves it off, still grinning. Keith feels a tug at his lip. 

“What — what’s so funny?”

“I just — I was so scared of telling you about this! And it’s just… it’s not even a big deal!”

“But…” Keith trails off, squinting. He nuzzles his cheek into Lance’s chest a bit, squeezing the arm wrapped around him. “If it’s not a big deal, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Lance’s laughter dies down. He taps his thumb a couple times against Keith’s arm, signing up at the ceiling. 

“It… It’s complicated.”

“Yeah?”

“Sort of.” Lance purses his lips in thought. He looks down at Keith, levelling his gaze. “It’s not that complicated.”

Keith blinks. “Uh… okay?”

“Uuuugh,” Lance groans, running his free hand over his face. “I just… I don’t know. I’ve never done this.”

“Neve done what?”

“Never… explained this whole thing to another person. In depth.”

“... Ever?”

“Yep,” Lance affirms. “Veronica explained it to Hunk, and Hunk explained it to Pidge, and my mom told Jenny.”

Keith furrows his brow. “Jenny?”

“She’s… she was my girlfriend. Four years ago, back when… everything happened.”

Keith nods. “She’s the one who sent you a message?”

“Yeah…” he trails off, biting his lip. “I’m sorry if this is… convoluted.”

“It’s okay —”

“I want… I want you to know everything,” Lance says with a bit of effort. “But it’s a lot. I don’t know where to start.”

Keith pauses, thinking. He gets up a moment later, pushing himself up into a seated position and pulling Lance’s legs onto his lap, figuring it’d be better to get a good look at one another while they have this conversation. 

“I…” Keith starts, unsure if this is the best way to kick things off. It’s not like he has any other ideas, though. “I was really worried, earlier. Before I came here. I didn’t know what was going on, so I kinda… barged into your apartment to ask Hunk and Pidge about it.”

Lance raises an eyebrow, a slight smirk pulling at his lip. “Really?”

“Yeah. I — I was kinda livid, honestly.” Keith plays with the spare elastic around his wrist, averting his gaze. “I knew there was stuff you were all keeping from me, and… I don’t know. But they ended up telling me some things.”

Lance tenses. “They did?”

“Sort of,” Keith huffs. He runs a hand through his hair, figuring he might as well rip the bandaid off in one go. “They told me your ex left when… when things got bad. I don’t really know what that means, but I kinda figured it must have had something to do with the…” he gestures kind of awkwardly, trying to find the words. “With the… bladder stuff.”

His gaze flitting to the TV, Lance brings a hand to his lower abdomen, seemingly unconsciously. He blinks a few times in thought, and Keith waits, gently rubbing Kosmo’s belly on the floor with his foot. The longer he waits, the more dejected Lance seems. Keith tries soothing him a little, running a hand up his calf and down again. 

“Take your time, it’s okay.” It’s getting a little hard to remain calm. Fortunately, though, Lance breaks the silence.

“That’s not… that’s not really what happened.”

“What’s not —”

“I think — she didn’t leave me because I got sick, Keith,” Lance says carefully, his voice incredibly weak. 

Keith blinks a couple times. “I thought —”

“My family, my friends… They all don’t like Jenny because she dumped me when I got sick. But that’s not… that’s not everything. _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “It’s easier, you know? I was mad at her for _so_ long because I was like, ‘who breaks up with someone when they’re unwell,’ you know? But I don’t think… I don’t think that’s fair. I don’t think that’s what happened.”

Keith nods, though he still doesn’t really understand. 

“Okay,” Lance breathes. He exhales a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll start from the top. It might… it might make more sense for you.”

“... Okay. Sure.”

“Alright. Here goes nothing.”

~~~

When Lance was nineteen and a freshman at university, he met Jenny Shaybon in an Introduction to Theatre class. Or, re-met, rather, since they’d gone to high school together. They never really talked before, though, because Lance was a weird kid with weird friends, and Jenny was _cool_ , by high school standards. 

So when she did talk to him that first day in class, it came as kind of a shock. Not only did Lance firmly believe she must have forgotten him (if she ever really knew he existed in the first place), he also believed that in the slight chance she _would_ remember him, she wouldn’t really want to engage. 

But she did. And she did again, the next time they had class. And soon the talking became study sessions at the library, which later became dates at the student bar afterward, and Lance couldn’t wrap his head around his luck. In his mind, people like Jenny were untouchable — they existed in another plane, only to be admired from afar and never talked to, since Lance was the kind of person who could scare someone away by simply opening his mouth.

That’s not what happened, though. Despite the fact that Jenny was gorgeous and smart and endearing, and that she was so completely out of his league, she never did get scared off. Instead, she _liked_ being around Lance just as much as he liked spending time with her. 

So she kissed him one night, after he walked her home. And the next time that happened, they slept together at her place. It was Lance’s first time — he told her this, in a nervous huff right beforehand. And she’d giggled and placed a hand on his cheek, telling him he had nothing to worry about. 

It was like being high — Lance had never _ever_ felt so enthralled by someone in his life. He remembers loving the way she would bite the end of her pen while reading, and the way she’d braid her hair to give her hands something to do. When he was with her, he felt like a newer, _better_ version of himself. But that enthrallment came at a price, because the more Lance immersed himself in Jenny’s life, the more he let go of his own. 

It started out innocuous — he’d rainchecked on a couple invites to hang out with Pidge and Hunk, and didn’t think anything of it at first, promising to make it up later. He never did, though. Jenny had become his world, and there didn’t seem to be enough room in it for anyone else. 

It was textbook codependence — Lance realizes that now, thanks to one too many lectures from Veronica. But it was hard to recognize as it was happening. And soon, Pidge and Hunk stopped calling and texting. And Lance, suddenly hit with the gravity of the situation, had absolutely no clue what to do about it. So he did nothing and just carried on, spending his free time with Jenny and her friends, being one half of a couple like he’d always dreamed of. 

It sucked, though, in retrospect. Especially when Hunk and Pidge didn’t call on his birthday. He hadn’t called them on theirs, either, so really it was to be expected. At the time, Lance told himself it didn’t matter. He was being a “good boyfriend,” and that was most important. 

The thing is, he wasn’t really happy. And neither was Jenny, either. Despite loving someone and being loved in return, Lance’s life felt emptier than it ever had. He put a smile on his face and ignored how he felt, because he didn’t want to risk upsetting the situation. But it still gnawed at him in that distinct way that seems subtle at first but can do real damage over time. And it was at that point, perhaps sensing the precariousness of the situation, that his bladder decided to revolt. 

He thought it was a UTI. But when two rounds of antibiotics didn’t make a dent in the symptoms, Lance started to get worried. Climbing started making things worse, so he decided to stop. It also started hurting when he had sex, and even more so after. His bladder would wake him up in the middle of the night, and prevent him from falling back asleep again. It started making things… weird with Jenny. She didn’t really understand what was going on, and would sometimes get sad that Lance couldn’t devote as much time to her as usual. Lance, in turn, would feel terrible for needing to prioritize himself, for once. It was kind of a shitty situation.

She didn’t like seeing him in pain, either. It almost disturbed her. He doesn’t blame her, really, because it’s not the kind of thing that everyone can stomach. And so, as they hung out less and less, Lance started getting that sense that things were nearing their end. He never said anything, though, because that would make things _final_. But in retrospect, it almost feels as if they broke up long before they had that last conversation.

It was Jenny who decided to do it. Lance was almost glad — he knew he’d never be able to himself. She called him one evening and did it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. He didn’t get any sleep that night. 

The pain didn’t really go away. Sometimes it would burn, and sometimes it would stab, and sometimes it would be tolerable enough to ignore for the length of a day. But when Lance peed actual blood about a few months into this whole ordeal, Veronica decided she’d had enough. She put her knowledge of the healthcare system to good use, and dragged him to a urologist as quickly as she could. 

The process of checking things out was… terrible, to say the least. Without going into _too_ much detail, it involved a tube up his urethra and some sort of potassium solution pumped into his bladder. After a short look inside, the doctor had concluded it was IC — which is often kind of a cop-out diagnosis. Lance got a pamphlet about trigger foods and a referral for a pelvic physiotherapist, and that was that. It was… anticlimactic. And it didn’t offer the sense of relief he was hoping for. 

So, Lance spent more time either crying or numb than he did doing anything else. He was lonely, too, given the fact that he was an asshole who steamrolled over his close friendships many months prior. He needed to take the semester off to recover, and spent way too much time alone with his thoughts than was healthy. And Veronica, seeing her brother’s despair, took the initiative in calling Hunk. 

The first time Hunk came to see him, Lance could barely keep himself together. Because despite not deserving it, Hunk _insisted_ on being there for him. Pidge was a little harder to convince, but after some tough love from Veronica, Lance decided he would put the work in if it meant keeping his friends around this time. So he set reminders in his phone calendar to see them and call them, and made sure to vocalize his appreciation of them every chance he got. 

He owned up to everything, too. It was his fault that he let things go wrong — no one, not even Jenny ever forced him to isolate himself from his friends. 

It worked, eventually. Not right away, mind you, but over time Lance became closer than ever with Hunk and Pidge. It was like he needed to fuck up and make a handful of terrible decisions to remember what was most important to him. His bladder started getting better, too. Or at least, he got better at managing it. Dating, though, was hard. Explaining your dick problems to strangers was never something that became easy, so Lance opted to just casually see people when things were going okay downstairs, and avoid doing so when things were not. 

He stopped dating altogether a few months back because he was exhausted — he’d had enough of stressing out over how much of himself he should reveal to people. Things came close, once — there was one girl who _almost_ made it past the "casual" phase, but she moved to another city before they could really get there. 

The voluntary celibacy worked, for a while. Turns out, dating was a stressor and his life kinda benefited from removing it. But then he met Keith, and Lance… was kind of forced to deal with everything that had happened all over again.

"I liked you," Lance emphasizes, squeezing his eyes shut. "Before we even started seeing each other… I feel like I was scared of seeing it, but I liked you so much, Keith. I just… I wanted to be around you but I didn't know how to handle myself. I'm kinda realizing I had some… unresolved issues. Still do, probably."

Keith doesn't say anything. He hasn't said anything in a while actually, but his gaze is direct and soft. He squeezes Lance's knee. 

"I'm sorry I hid things from you —"

"No," Keith interrupts, shaking his head. "You don't need to be sorry, I…" he scrunches up his face, averting his gaze. "I haven't been totally transparent either."

Lance blinks, searching his face. "Huh?"

"I mean… fuck," Keith exhales, rubbing his eyes. "I've got… I don’t really talk about this, ever, but... I dunno, I've been there."

"Where?"

"I've been sick too. I've… hurt people I love, too, Lance. It's not… totally the same. But I know what it can be like."

That… that’s unexpected.

“Yeah?” Lance breathes, nudging his hand over on the couch to Keith’s free one, grazing it with the back of his index finger.

Keith cringes, worrying his lip. “I don’t wanna make this about me, though. You… you can keep going. I don’t wanna interrupt.”

Lance chuckles, hooking their index fingers together. “It’s okay, I wanna know. You listened to me talk about everything, it’s only fair that you get a chance too. And then —”

“Then?”

“Then we can… keep talking about it,” Lance finishes. “Like, at least a little. If we want to.”

Keith doesn’t really look at him. Instead, he sort of gazes off into the corner, still running his left hand up and down Lance’s calf. 

“I… you know how I get headaches?”

Lance nods. “Yeah?”

“And I take an SSRI?”

“Mhm.”

“It’s cause last fall, I… I used to do muay thai.” Keith’s gaze flickers up to Lance’s, before shifting back down to his knees. “It’s like, Thai kickboxing. I was doing it for a long time, and I had like, three concussions before. One that was kind of intense, and two small ones. But around Thanksgiving, I ended up knocking my head _really_ badly. I don’t… really remember what happened, exactly, but I couldn’t walk afterward. I couldn’t open my eyes.”

Lance nods, squeezing his finger. The way Keith is delivering each sentence makes it sound like the first time he’s strung these words together. Thankfully, Lance knows that that’s like. He was there literally minutes prior. 

“I went to the hospital and everything, and it was whatever. But things got kinda… weird after.” Keith scrunches up his face. “It was… It’s hard to remember a lot of it. But it was like I couldn’t…”

He cuts himself off, blinking back what might be the beginnings of tears. Lance feels his heart clench in his chest. He pushes himself up and moves his legs off of Keith’s lap, sitting up to wrap an arm around him. Keith melts into him almost instinctively, curling his legs under himself and resting his head in the crook of Lance’s neck. 

“I couldn’t… function like a normal person. I couldn’t really go outside during the day, at first. The light would just make my head feel like it was splitting open. I also… my personality changed, too. That was kinda… the biggest red flag. I was _mean_ and angry at the drop of a hat, and I’d say things…”

His voice cracks, and Kosmo is on the couch with them in an instant. He jumps up and squeezes himself next to Keith, resting his head in his lap. Keith chuckles wetly, sniffing a little as he starts scratching behind Kosmo’s ears, his head still nestled against Lance’s shoulder. 

“I had ‘post-concussion syndrome,’ which is sort of a nebulous word for when you get bad pain and emotional problems after a concussion. Enough that it gets in the way of normal life. I don’t… I don’t know if I’m making sense —”

“You are,” Lance insists, delivering a gentle kiss to his head, running his fingers up the back of Keith’s neck into his scalp in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “I’m following everything, it’s alright.”

“I… I said a lot of things — to my mom, to Shiro — that were _so mean_. Again, I don’t remember a lot of it, but I remember how scared they looked. But it was like there was nothing between my brain and my mouth, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

He takes a deep breath, looking a little conflicted before continuing. “I wanted Shiro to leave me alone, once. But he didn’t want to, ‘cause he was scared I was gonna hurt myself. So I just… I dunno, I wanted to _hit_ him. I didn’t, though. I kept yelling at him that I would but… I didn’t. I punched the wall instead.”

Keith swallows, tightening his hand in Lance’s shirt. 

“The hole’s still there, in my room. I covered it with a poster the morning after you slept over for the first time. I… I didn’t know how to tell you about any of this. So I just sort of… didn’t.”

Lance nods, his nose nuzzling into Keith’s hair. “I know. I know it’s hard, I did the same thing.”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” Keith confesses weakly. “It’s not even like… I’m doing fine, now, but I still get headaches, and I got a lot more… anxious after all the mood stuff. Most of the anger went away after a bit, but I’m still _so_ scared of losing my mind again. I’ve had panic attacks over it, and sometimes I wouldn’t want to leave my house for days at a time. I didn’t date anyone at all, up until we met. Like, I couldn’t really go out and drink or smoke like I used to ‘cause of my meds. I barely hung out with anyone that wasn’t the triad or my mom. Kosmo helped, though.”

He inhales a shaky breath, steadying himself. 

“I’m okay though… and like, I know you get it. It’s not like, always good, but…”

“It’s not always okay, but that… that in itself is okay,” Lance finishes. He’s honestly not even sure if that came out sounding incredibly dumb, but it feels like an apt descriptor.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, nodding. He pulls back to rest his head on the back of the couch, far enough to lock eyes with Lance’s, an obvious expression of relief written all over his face. Lance rests his head back as well, and just stares back into Keith's eyes and smiles, slowly but surely, at how everything is tumbling into place like a lock and key. It’s one of those things that doesn’t need words — Keith can tell Lance gets it, and Lance can tell Keith gets it. And even though they haven’t had a silent moment for at least the last hour probably, it’s like most of what they were trying to say doesn't even need to be said out loud. 

It takes about thirty seconds before Lance starts tearing up. And Keith, having teetered on the edge for the entire length of his own story, follows suit in an instant. And as Lance brings his hand to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind Keith’s ear, he realizes exactly what’s different about the way things are going this time around. 

“I just…” Keith starts, ripping Lance out of his head. “I wanted you to know that because… I’d have felt less alone. If I knew someone who… had gone through something. Who was _still_ going through something.”

“I do,” Lance replies, his throat closing up. “I know… it must have been so hard to talk about. I appreciate it _so much_. Thank you.”

“I know it’s not the same —”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lance chuckles, reaching his hand over to hold Keith’s hand, fingers entwined together. “It doesn’t have to be the same. I still appreciate it. Thank you for telling me.”

Keith smiles, very subtly. He blinks a couple times, looking down at Kosmo in his lap. “I’m sorry about what happened, though. Like, four years ago. It sounds like it must have been awful to deal with.”

“It was,” Lance says, entirely honestly and without a shred of deflection. “It was terrible. Honestly, the stuff with Hunk and Pidge was the worst of it. I… hated myself, for a while. I was so lonely, too, and I was probably depressed for a lot of it, which didn’t help. And…” he takes a sharp inhale, willing himself to look at Keith directly. “I know I can… be avoidant at times. I’ll work on it, but I can’t promise I won’t ever make mistakes again. I wanna try, though. I wanna try my best this time, kay?”

Keith nods, smiling. After a moment, he furrows his brow slightly and smoothes a hand over Kosmo’s forehead. “It’s okay though. Mistakes are okay. No one gets things perfect their first try.”

Lance snorts lightly, shaking his head at his lap. “Hey, it’s like boulder —”

“I swear to god, if you make a sports analogy right now —” 

“I’ll stop,” Lance chuckles, grinning. He entwined their fingers together, squeezing Keith’s hand in his palm. 

Things are quiet again, for a moment. Keith scoots in closer, placing his head back on Lance’s shoulder, pulling Kosmo up almost into both their laps. His dog complies, nestling his upper body in Keith’s lap, head in Lance’s. It’s fucking adorable, honestly, and Lance uses his free hand to card through Kosmo’s ears, thumbing small circles in his forehead. Something about all of it feels incredibly _right_ , like _this_ is the only place in the universe that Lance should be right now. 

“There was something else, right?” Keith mumbles after a minute of some of the most comfortable silence in Lance’s life. He’s almost sorry it’s ending, though hearing Keith speak is up there among the things he’d definitely not mind doing right now. 

“Hm?”

“Like… with Jenny messaging you.”

Oh. Yeah, right. Lance had _nearly_ forgotten about that.

“Uh, yeah.”

Keith pulls back, searching his face. “What’s bothering you about that?”

The second Lance’s face drops, Keith gives his hand a squeeze. 

“You can talk about it, if you want. But it’s fine if you don’t.”

Thing is, he’s not even sure he _can_ talk about it — mainly because the mishmash of emotions is kind of hard to articulate into words. See, Lance had literally multiple days to himself to ruminate over all of the Keith and bladder and Jenny stuff, enough time to probably drive a person kind of crazy. But after all of that solid thinking, and after the past god knows how long he and Keith have been talking, things _are_ admittedly a lot clearer. Finding the words to express that clarity, though, might be kind of tough. 

He’s gonna try anyway, though. Because he’s tough, and Keith’s tough, and this isn’t anywhere as hard as some of the shit they’ve both dealt with. So if he has to make that extra effort to bare his entire soul to this guy he’s found himself in love with all of a sudden, he honestly can’t bring himself to mind at all.

“I think…” Lance takes a deep breath, leaning his head back on the couch. “I think I’m sorta realizing that the way I was remembering things wasn’t… it wasn’t exactly what happened.”

“Hm?” 

“It’s like —” Lance furrows his brow, frowning. “Right after she dumped me, it was like this weird mix of relief and just… anger. Maybe not even at her, just in general cause like, everything was so shit at the time. So I think I just kept associating her with everything going wrong. I saw her as the asshole in the situation, ‘cause I had given up so much to be with her and she left me alone and in pain and —”

He takes a deep breath, blinking back the pressure behind his eyes. 

“I thought that being in love was the best thing to have ever happened to me. And I was willing to do anything to keep things that way, for a while. I was so terrified of it ending.”

It’s kinda like his mouth is saying things without his brain getting involved. It’s making sense, though. A lot of it is starting to make sense.

“But… I don't think we _really_ loved each other. We barely _knew_ each other, like — I loved the version of her I made up in my head, and she loved the version of me that I was putting forward. And I think that's what's scary, 'cause like — if she wanted to keep loving me, she would have stayed around. And loving someone doesn't mean abandoning your life for them and making yourself sick. So it's just… it's a tough pill to swallow, realizing we didn’t love each other like we thought we did. It hurts a lot more than thinking that she was just an asshole. But I think it's closer to the truth.”

That’s it, really. Lance isn’t even sure why he’s letting himself ramble on about his ex to his new boyfriend, ‘cause it seems like a textbook bad idea at first glance. But maybe letting yourself be an open book is part of loving someone. Or at least, maybe it’s one way to do it.

He meets Keith’s gaze, their eyes locking together. Lance takes a shaky breath, smiling slightly as he blinks away the moisture in his eyes. 

“I think… I'm gonna love you for real, Keith. And you're gonna have to deal with all of this,” he says, gesturing all over the place. “I won't hold back. I'll be the most authentic, annoying version of myself and hopefully it won’t be too much—"

“It won’t,” Keith interrupts, dragging Lance’s hand up where their fingers are still locked together. And then, in the most insanely unlikely turn of events, he brings Lance’s hand up to his face and delivers a soft, gentle kiss to his knuckles, only breaking eye contact for the briefest second. Lance’s breath hitches in his throat, because who the _fuck_ decided that was allowed? Keith might actually be trying to murder him. 

“You’re never too much,” Keith chuckles, bringing their hands to rest on his abdomen. “I get it, though. I get why it’s hard that Jenny’s talking to you again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and…” Keith scrunches up his face, suddenly adopting that vaguely confused look Lance has come to affectionately associate with him. “I don’t know… I don’t know what to say to make it better. But… I’m gonna love you, too. And I don’t care if things get hard sometimes, I just… I wanna be with you. I don’t care if it’s not always gonna be easy.”

Well, then. Holy shit. 

“Fuck,” Lance breathes out, running a hand over his eyes. “I — _Shit_ , Keith, who the fuck... God, you’re amazing.”

Keith blinks. “W — what?”

“You’re amazing,” he reiterates, leaning into Keith’s space and letting go of his hand to wrap an arm around his waist. “I have _no_ idea why I didn’t just… tell you sooner. But holy _shit_ , I love you. I’m so happy I know you —”

The rest of his word vomit gets cut off as Keith brings their mouths together, lips slotting into place like it’s second nature. 

It’s _a lot_ , all of a sudden. It’s a rush like he’s never felt. Unfortunately, though, before things can get hot and heavy, Lance hears a door slamming upstairs. 

His teenaged instincts kick in, and Lance pulls away abruptly. As absolutely fucking incredible as all of this is, part of him definitely doesn’t want to be caught making out with someone in his parents’ basement.

“ _LEANDRO!_ ” the unmistakable voice of Lance’s Ma booms from upstairs. “ _LA CENA YA VA ESTAR LISTA EN MEDIA HORA, TELL KEITH I’M SORRY IT’S LATE! ME ENCONTRÉ MARÌA EN EL SCOTIABANK HOY!_ ”

Lance groans, pulling back to run his hands over his face. Keith sputters a couple laughs next to him.

“LANCITO? DON’T TELL ME YOU’RE STILL SLEEPIN —”

“I’M AWAKE, MA!” he yells back.

“ _GREAT! IS KEITH WITH YOU DOWNSTAIRS?_ ” 

“YES, MA!” 

Kosmo barks.

“ _OH! DOES THE DOG NEED ANYTHING? IS HE HUNGRY?_ ”

Lance shoots an exasperated look at Keith, eyebrow raised. Keith snorts, before taking a deep breath.

“NO, I FED HIM BEFORE I LEFT! THANK YOU!”

“ _OKAY, PERFECT! YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE MY STEW KEITH, IT’S LANCITO’S FAVOURITE!_ ”

“SOUNDS GREAT!” 

Lance groans again, leaning back with his hands against his face. Holy _shit_ , their entire deep talk made him completely forget where they were. Also, Keith apparently already met his mom, which is… something. At least she seems to like him, she probably wouldn’t have invited him inside otherwise.

He wonders, though, how much she knows. How much Keith _told_ her, rather. He kinda missed it what with how unconscious he was. 

“You alright, _Lancito_?” Keith quips in literally the most obnoxious tone ever. Wow, what a dickhead. He’s wearing an even more annoying grin when Lance drags his hands from his eyes. Ugh. 

“Does she…” he winces. “Does she know about…”

“Oh, no way,” Keith interjects, shaking his head. “I said I was a friend of yours. Figured… I didn’t wanna like, out us before you were ready.”

Okay, so maybe Keith isn’t a dickhead. Maybe he’s a very considerate gentleman. 

“Thank you,” Lance breathes, leaning his head back on the couch to stare at the ceiling. “Would you hate me if we didn’t tell them just yet? I’m kinda exhausted after… all of the talking. And I know it’ll be kind of a _thing_ , so…”

“Yeah,” Keith answers, linking their index fingers together. He smiles, less obnoxious and more… soft this time. Damn, Lance _still_ isn’t used to that. It’s enough to send his heart racing. “Whenever you’re ready, there’s no rush. But…”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “But?”

“What if they ask?” Keith supplies. “I don’t wanna lie to them if that happens.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re shit at lying,” Lance chuckles. 

“I’m not shit at lying!”

“You tried to hide your panic attack from me and ended up crying into my shirt.”

Keith scowls in exaggerated offence.

“If they ask, we tell them,” Lance adds, wrapping an arm around him. He runs his hands up the back of Keith’s head, scratching at his scalp lightly. Keith pouts, all cute. It _nearly_ masks how much he’s enjoying it. “They won’t ask, though. My parents are het as fuck, they have no gaydar.”

“Yeah?”

“Acxa came over, like… a _lot_ when she and V were dating.” Lance purses his lips, shaking his head. “They _never_ noticed. And trust me, they would have said something if they had.”

They’re quiet for a bit, Lance’s fingers still running through Keith’s hair. He turns his head to the side, leaving a short kiss on his temple. Keith sighs, worrying his lip. 

“Hey,” Lance whispers.

“Mm?”

“What’s bothering you?”

“I just,” he huffs, nuzzling his head into Lance’s shoulder a little. “I want them to like me.”

Lance hums, nosing at Keith’s hairline. “What did my mom do when you showed up?”

“Uhh… she was confused for a sec. I don’t blame her, really. But after I said I was a friend and that I brought my dog to make you feel better, she pulled me into the house and invited me to dinner.”

Damn, sounds pretty typical.

“She likes you already,” Lance chuckles. 

“And your dad?”

Lance squints. 

“Do you know anything about cars?”

“Uhh,” Keith grunts, pulling back to fix him with a strange look. “Yeah? Sorta. I helped Curtis refurbish a Westfalia a few years ago.”

Lance’s gaze flattens. “Okay, I don’t know what that is, but if that’s your criteria for ‘sorta’ we’ll be fine. Talk to my dad about cars, he’ll love you.”

“It’s a Volkswagen camper van,” Keith mumbles, his adorable pout back again. Damn, if all it takes to get Keith pouty and cute is not knowing anything about cars, Lance will definitely keep that up.

“It’ll be fine. My parents love it when I bring friends over for dinner,” he responds, pulling Keith back in again. This time, it’s not entirely clear who reaches for the other’s hand first, but their fingers end up entwined all the same. Lance could really, _really_ get used to this. The open book thing, that is. He hasn’t felt this light in years. 

Keith looks thoughtful when he glances at his face, now half resting against his shoulder and half against the back of the couch. He’s got that cute little pinch between his eyebrows, letting Lance know that he’s still kinda deep in thought. Figures. It’s not every day you sit down and have a soul-bearing chat about some of the worst things that have happened in your life. It was hard for both of them, but Lance feels like they did a good job. That they should be _proud_ of themselves. 

“Hey,” Lance mutters, squeezing Keith’s shoulder. “I’m proud of us.”

“Hm?” 

“We… I dunno, we did that. That was hard, but we did it.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate on what “that” is. 

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, smiling just enough for Lance to notice. “Me too.” He exhales, scooching further into Lance’s side and wrapping a strong arm around his torso, squeezing. It’s both adorable, and a little hilarious — Lance has cuddled with girls exactly like this, but Keith’s arm alone is so fucking heavy compared to what he’s used to. It’s also kinda manly and hairy given that Keith is… a man with arm hair, obviously. But this is the new normal, though, he figures. He’s got a slightly beefy boyfriend, now. Heh. It still sounds a little weird to think of things that way, but it’s good weird. Lance will _definitely_ get used to it. 

“What’s so funny?” Keith asks, muffled into his chest.

“Nothing, it’s just,” Lance chuckles, hugging him closer. “You’re a lot more manly than everyone I’ve ever held like this.”

“Because I’m a man,” Keith grunts, unimpressed. “Are you having a gay crisis?”

“Hell no,” Lance laughs. After a moment though, he knits his brows together, eyes widening in realization. “Wait, am I a twink?”

“Yes,” Keith responds without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re tall for a twink, though. You could be an otter if you grew out your facial hair.”

“I’m definitely not doing that,” Lance points out matter-of-factly. “It’s itchy.”

Keith snorts. “Shame.”

Lance laughs again, appreciating the feel of Keith in his arms. But despite the euphoria of the entire situation, there’s a short moment where a tight burning feeling reminds him of what’s going on downstairs. Huh. He’d almost… forgotten the flare was a thing. It’s definitely still a thing — he’s not feeling all that great, still. But having Keith here has made it easier to ignore. It’s probably the extra oxytocin from the cuddling, or whatever. Still, though… it’s nice.

“Is there anything else?” Keith asks all of a sudden, pulling away slightly to meet Lance’s gaze. “Anything you wanna talk about before dinner?”

Lance purses his lips, thinking. He trails his thumb back and forth and back again against Keith’s delt. Honestly, yeah. There is something, now that he thinks of it. Something he’d normally be terrified to bring up, but there are a lot of things about today that would have terrified him on an average day. 

“Would it… I dunno if I even want to do this, yet. But would it be cool with you if I maybe met up with Jenny?” He cringes slightly at just hearing those words come out of his mouth. “I… I dunno, something Veronica said a while ago got me thinking, but… I dunno. Tell me if you think it’s a terrible idea.”

To his surprise, Keith doesn’t really bat an eye. He bites his lips together, considering. “It wouldn’t bother me at all, I don’t care. And… I dunno, it might be a good idea.”

“Yeah? How?”

“I dunno. Cause like… she’s a person, you know?”

Lance blinks. “Uh, yes. Keith, I’m aware she’s a person.”

“No, I mean,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “You’ve hated her for years over… I dunno, for kind of unfair reasons. Like, I get being mad about it and not wanting to see her, I do. Things didn’t exactly end well. But… what did she want exactly?”

“She… she wanted to apologize, I think. And she wanted to hear my side of things. That’s pretty much what she said.”

“Do you want her apology?” Keith asks, his expression completely open and lacking any sort of judgement. “Do you want her to know your side of things?”

Huh. Lance hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“I…” He winces. “I don’t know, honestly. I have no brain juice left, I can’t make decisions.”

“Damn, so close,” Keith deadpans. 

“I’ll think about it,” Lance adds, nodding. “Thank you, though. I… it means a lot.”

Keith laughs. “I didn’t do anything —”

“Yeah, shut up,” Lance snaps, grinning. “What about you? Anything else you wanna ask before —”

“ _DIEZ MINUTOS_!” a booming voice calls from upstairs. Oh hey, Lance’s dad came home. 

“Before that,” he finishes. 

“ _LEANDRO?_ ”

“Uuuuuugh. SI, SI, WE’RE COMING IN A BIT.”

“ _OKAY. HELLO KEITH!_ ”

“... HELLO?” Keith yells at the ceiling, looking only moderately terrified.

“ _HI _!”__

__Lance raises his eyebrows. “That’s my dad.”_ _

__“Cool,” Keith grunts. Oh man, this is gonna be so weird._ _

__“Okay let’s pretend we’re not gonna have dinner with my parents in a few minutes and act like we’re not a couple,” Lance quips. “Did you wanna ask me anything else?”_ _

__“Uh, yeah,” Keith responds, looking a little confused. “Why library school?”_ _

__Lance blinks, taken aback. “Huh?”_ _

__“I’ve always wondered,” Keith adds. He shrugs. “I dunno, I’m curious.”_ _

__“Heh, alright,” Lance simpers, running a hand through his hair. “Well… to be honest I kinda just applied on a whim ‘cause I didn’t know what to do after undergrad. But… I dunno, it fits. I like helping people. I like… working with kids, especially.” He smiles a little at his lap, thinking of the reading workshop he helped with a few months ago. “They’re hilarious, and super cute. And… I dunno. It just works, I guess.”_ _

__Keith smiles. “Huh.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Lance grins. “I also get to, like, show kids stuff to help them read. Like voice software, screen readers, stuff for kids with disabilities mainly. I helped a kid with ADHD and dyslexia find stuff to help do her homework the other day.”_ _

__“That’s really sweet.”_ _

__“So yeah,” Lance shrugs. “I know it’s like, the nerdiest thing ever. But I don’t care. What about you?”_ _

__“What about me?” Keith raises an eyebrow._ _

__“What do you wanna be when you grow up?”_ _

__He laughs in response, shaking his head. “I dunno. I like my job.”_ _

__“Not gonna lie, you make a pretty hot mechanic.”_ _

__“Bike mechanic,” Keith points out. “But… I dunno. I was gonna study art at one point, but I didn’t end up having enough time to get my application together. I don’t think I’d wanna go to school for it now, but I’d like to do more of it.”_ _

__Lance frowns. “You make art?”_ _

__“I draw, mostly. Ink and charcoal, I dunno. I haven’t in a while though, not since I finished the sleeve.”_ _

__He pulls out his forearm, pointing at the knife tattoo. “This is a korean dagger from the Joseon Dynasty. The hilt is covered in fish skin. My grandma has a replica in her house, and I always used to try to play with it as a kid. It was the last thing I added to the sleeve, and the only part I drew myself.”_ _

__He puts his arm down, looking a tad proud of himself. Keith deserves to, honestly, ‘cause... holy shit that’s cool._ _

__“Wha — how didn’t I know this before?” Lance gapes._ _

__Keith shrugs. “Didn’t come up? I’ve had tattoos for years, I don’t think of them often.”_ _

__“Wha —” Lance blinks, baffled._ _

__“... What?”_ _

__“You’re so fucking hot.”_ _

__“... I am?”_ _

__Lance ignores Keith’s befuddled display of humility and goes straight for his mouth, prying it open with his own. Fuck it, honesty. They’ve gotta go be PG in like, five minutes and all they’ve been doing is talking. Also, Keith is _so cool_ and _so hot_ , it’s just unfair. _ _

__Kosmo whines at one point, after Lance thinks he may have lightly elbowed his head. Damn, he forgot the dog was still on the couch with them. Without even pausing, though, Keith lightly shimmies him off and goes for broke, taking his dog’s spot in Lance’s lap. It’s kind of a big mess — fingers locked in hair, heavy breaths against their mouths. Lance notices that Keith isn’t putting too much weight on his pelvic region — a truly gentlemanly move._ _

__His hands snake down to Keith’s ass, cupping his cheeks and squeezing. And just as he starts to moan in Lance’s mouth, the sound of footsteps overhead pulls him back down to earth._ _

__“ _BOYS!_ ” Lance’s mother shouts, her steps very obviously nearing the head of the stairs. Without thinking, Lance tosses Keith off of him onto the couch cushions, their lips parting with a _smack_. _Fuuuuuck_ , he hopes that wasn’t audible. _ _

__“Uh, YEAH?”_ _

__“ _Dinner is almost ready! Go wash your hands!_ ”_ _

__Lance groans, bringing his hands to his face. Keith, though, descents into a hearty fit of chuckles, muffled by the crook of his elbow._ _

__“MA I’M AN ADULT!”_ _

__“ _“Aww, you will always be my chiquitín!! Mi Lancito hermosisimo —”_ ”_ _

__At that one, Keith absolutely loses it. His Ma laughs a little as well, finally leaving from where she was no doubt perched like a mother hen at the top of the staircase. Holy shit, Lance is literally going to die tonight. Murdered by his own loved ones._ _

__“Shut up,” he mutters at Keith, trying his damndest to keep a straight face. It only makes things worse._ _

__Once Keith has finally calmed down, he shoots Lance a grin. “Ready to go wash our hands?”_ _

__“Fuck off,” Lance scoffs, hitting him with a throw pillow. “Ready to act like platonic bros in front of my parents?”_ _

__“I bet I’ll be better than you at it,” Keith quips. Oh. Oh _hell no_._ _

__“Fuck you, Keith. I thought I was straight for twenty-one years, you’ve got nothing on me.”_ _

__Falling back against the couch cushions, Keith lets out a breathy chuckle. He fixes Lance with a soft gaze, his mouth curled into a lazy smile. It lights Lance up, making him feel warm all over. Fucking hell, what a day._ _

__“I’m real glad we came over,” Keith says after a moment. He pokes Lance with his foot, nudging his head over to where Kosmo’s curled up adorably on the ground by the coffee table, his face buried behind his front legs. “I think he’s happy about it, too.”_ _

__“I’m real glad you did too,” Lance grins. “And thanks, for earlier. I think… I think I needed that.”_ _

__“I did, too.” Keith smiles. “You ready to go?”_ _

__Honestly, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to face his parents with Keith by his side, but he can’t really find it in himself to worry. At least, not at this exact moment — and that in itself is something to be proud of._ _

__“Yeah,” he nods, taking a deep breath and pushing himself off the couch. “Let’s go wash our fucking hands.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance: have a big long difficult talk about all of their deepest issues
> 
> also Keith and Lance: we're too tired to tell the parents we're gay for each other. 
> 
> I wanted the whole dinner bit to be part of this chapter, but things as always went on longer than anticipated!
> 
> PHEW! It's done! I am SO gonna sleep now (that's a boldfaced lie, I'm about to shower and go to a neighbor's birthday and then a bar and then a music show???!? all with pelvic pain! WOO, homegirl's gonna be taking meds tonite!)
> 
> Fingers crossed I don't faint at the concert. Last time I fainted in public it was so awkward.
> 
> These are all funny jokes I make because I like dark humour. Really, sometimes I need to laugh it off when my body is interrupting life. Have I laughed while having spasms in front of a partner? Yes. Lance in this fic is me projecting. I know, _shocking_!
> 
> Anyway, I'm nervous rambling because I'm nervous about hitting that post button aaaaaaaaahlkdjfdjfl. I'm gonna do it NOW, I promise. Hope y'all have a great weekend, and thank you, as always, for reading <3
> 
> Spanish-English translations:
> 
> \- “LEANDRO! DINNER’S READY IN HALF AN HOUR, TELL KEITH I’M SORRY IT’S LATE! I RAN INTO MARIA AT SCOTIABANK!”
> 
> \- "Aww, you will always be my little baby! My beautiful little Lance"


	14. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They do end up hugging — it’s a little stilted, though, like they’re not sure which way they should be putting their hands. Good to know Keith feels about as awkward as he does. _Pretend he’s Hunk_ , Lance tells himself before remembering that his hugs with Hunk are sometimes even more gay than the ones he gives Keith. He settles on pretending Keith is Luis, and keeps his arms around him for about seventy milliseconds before pulling back and offering him a fist to bump. Keith just stares at it blankly. _Nice_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm still here!!!! 
> 
> I try not to stress myself over updating this fic, but I did start feeling a little antsy as this chapter took longer and longer to get through. I'm trying to be kind to myself when it comes to these sorts of things since it's natural for creativity to ebb and flow. 
> 
> If you want more up-to-date info on how this fic is progressing in between chapters, I have a Twitter now! It's @SirCumf, and I've been posting small updates there and on my tumblr under the "Back to the Wall" tag. 
> 
> I also wrote a smut oneshot! It's called "Another Saturday Night," and it's as wholesome as I could make it given the subject matter. Feel free to read that if you're into smut oneshots!
> 
> This chapter is definitely lighter than the last, though there are still some mentions of heavier subject matter. CW for a short conversation about parent death (skip between "It's a completely innocent question" and "No worries at all" if you prefer to avoid) and a section about a character's thoughts on less-than-good parental reactions to coming out as queer.
> 
> There's also Spanish in here, but a lot of it is heard from Keith's perspective. I am not providing translations for those parts on purpose since Keith doesn't understand Spanish. If you understand Spanish, pretend you don't. I didn't provide translations for the couple very small Spanish sentences that show up in Lance's POV either because I'm tired right now and it's really not much, nor is it all that plot important. If someone really wants them I'll put them in when I have the brain juice!
> 
> Thanks to lao-medeia once again for doing the translations. Thank you all for your patience between updates, and I hope you're having a nice weekend!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

It’s not like any of this is really something Keith is used to — “this” being a cute sit-down family dinner on an average weekday night. It always seemed like the kind of thing that he and his mom would maybe do once or twice a week with his grandma. Sure, he used to have dinner with his mom back when he lived with her. But it was sort of a special thing — she had an irregular schedule and wasn’t home some evenings. Most of Keith’s dinners as a teen were spent alone, more often than not. 

Come to think of it, he hasn’t had that sort of classic nuclear family-type dinner situation in maybe… _seventeen years._ Like, not since his dad died. And even then, Keith’s parents weren’t even twenty when they had him, so it’s not like they knew what they were doing. They may have tried their damndest, but routine wasn’t something they were great at. 

Lance’s family on the other hand, seems to have the entire thing down pat. Without even saying anything, Lance grabs fistfuls of cutlery from the kitchen and starts helping his dad set the table while his mother hauls a dutch oven into the dining table with two oven-mitted hands. It’s like everyone has their job, something they’ve done so often it’s ingrained in their muscles. And as he watches the whole makeshift assembly line, Keith can’t help but feel utterly useless. 

“Keith,” Lance says gently, still arranging folded napkins underneath each table knife. “The glasses are in the cupboard over the sink, mind grabbing some?”

Thank _god_. Something to do. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says as casually as possible, spinning on his heel before —

“Leandro,” Lance’s dad ( _Alberto_ , Keith remembers from when they shook hands extremely briefly after he came back from the washroom) interrupts. “Don’t let Keith work, he is a guest.”

 _Oh god_ , Keith thinks. _Please let me work._

“Tenemos que darle algo para hacer,” Lance mumbles, presumably to his father, “se siente incómodo.”

Alberto raises an eyebrow, glancing at Keith in a way that’s probably supposed to be subtle, but completely misses the mark. Keith averts his eyes, pretending to be interested in the photos on the wall. 

“Okay. Keith, get the nice glasses. Not the ones over the sink.”

“ _Pa, el no sabe donde están los vasos buenos_ ” Lance whispers aggressively. Wow, Keith certainly wishes he spoke Spanish. 

“They are in the cabinet near the window.”

It sounds simple enough. But when he gets to said cabinet, Keith is met with an impressively extensive collection of stemmed glassware in many different shapes — beer glasses, wine glasses, skinnier wine glasses, stouter wine glasses, normal glasses —

Okay, what the fuck? Keith has spent his entire life drinking out of repurposed pasta sauce jars and the occasional shitty wine glass from IKEA. 

“Uh, what are we drinking?” Keith asks, hoping it’ll bring some clarity to the situation. 

“Whatever you want!” Lance’s mom (Iris, Keith reminds himself) yells from the kitchen. Great. That helps. 

“Decile a Keith lo que tenemos!” Lance yells back. Keith, again, has no fucking clue what he’s saying. 

“We haaaaaaave —” Iris interrupts herself with the sound of the fridge opening. “We have beers, white wine, tonic and gin, some rum, orange juice, ginger ale, milk, chocolate milk —”

“Beer is good,” Keith says quickly. It’s the only word he really absorbed.

“Okay! Lancito can’t have beer right now, but me and Alberto will have some!”

Oh right. Shit, Keith forgot about the flare. 

“Actua —”

“It’s cool,” Lance whispers, at his side in an instant. “I don’t care.” He smiles over his shoulder, before turning to arrange the last set of cutlery. 

Keith turns back around, swallowing down the mild tension itching at the back of his neck. He scans the cabinet for appropriate beer vessels, eyes landing on what look like half-pint glasses, and he grabs them before he starts overthinking things. Lance and Alberto are already getting seated when he reaches the table, just as he starts setting the glasses down with slightly shaky hands. Damn. Hopefully Lance’s dad won’t notice that. 

Iris is back not a second later, her apron and oven mitts discarded. She sets a cold bottle of Sleeman’s lager in front of him. Following Lance’s dad’s lead, Keith pours it into his glass. 

“Okay!” Lance’s mom exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Keith, I made fricasé de pollo. It has chicken with olives, potatoes, raisins, capers, and peas. I hope you’re okay with that!”

She reaches over the table, grabbing his plate before he can do anything more except blink and open his mouth slightly. 

“Uh, sounds good,” he manages. With a little extra effort, he even musters up a smile. “Thank you.”

“Gracias, Ma,” Lance grins when she takes his plate. He turns to Keith, raising an eyebrow. “When I was a kid, I hated olives. I’d always leave them on the side of my plate and ask my siblings if they wanted them.”

Alberto chuckles. “I would get so angry, the olives are the best part!”

“Put some lemon on it,” Iris interrupts, using one hand to keep serving and her other to push a small dish with lemon wedges in Keith’s general direction. “The recipe is supposed to have citrus, but Lancito can’t have!”

“He knooows, Ma,” Lance drawls, swirling the water in his glass. “We’ve had meals together before — ” 

“With Hunk and Pidge,” Keith tacks on abruptly. He wrings his hands under the table, hoping that didn’t sound at all suspicious. “Uh, a few times.”

Lance snorts. Wow, okay. Keith’s only _trying_.

“Oooh, you know Katie and Manuia!” Iris grins, finally moving the dutch oven aside and taking a seat across from them next to her husband. 

“Uh,” Keith mumbles. “Who’s —”

“Hunk’s real person name is Manuia,” Lance elaborates. Huh. That’s new information. He lifts his water glass a second later, addressing the table. “Cheers?”

“No!” Alberto yells, his eyes widening. Keith tenses, sinking into his seat with one hand outstretched toward his beer. “Leandro, you can’t cheers with tap water!”

“It’s bad luck!” Iris tuts, before getting up and running into the kitchen. Lance rolls his eyes.

“They always do this.”

“ _Tengo agua de coco!_ ”

“Ooooh, thanks Ma!”

Keith blinks. “What, uh… what’s that?” 

“Coconut water,” Lance supplies. “I used to hate it, but then it became the only juice-like thing I can drink with a flare.”

“Huh,” Keith grunts dumbly. He resists the urge to stare at the way Lance’s mouth curls into a familiar and adorable smirk, and opts to stare at the wall instead. _Fuck_ , this is kinda weird — especially given the fact that Keith has absolutely no fucking clue what his “tells” even are. 

Scratch what he said earlier. Not acting gay is _very hard_. 

“Okay, okay, I’m back!” Iris plops a glass of suspiciously opaque liquid next to Lance’s plate before finally taking a seat. She lifts her glass. “ _¡Salud!_ ”

“ _¡Salud!_ ”

“Uhh,” Keith manages, clinking his glass on instinct. “Sa —”

He gives up. 

It’s fine, though. Everyone’s digging into their plates not a moment later. He follows suit, bringing a spoonful of stew to his mouth and savouring it. It’s… really fucking good, honestly. It has the same kind of warm and comforting feel that his grandmother’s food had back when she didn’t have arthritis and could still cook for herself. It’s exactly the kind of thing Keith needs after this fucking exhausting and emotional day. He’s grateful as hell. 

“Imph’s real gumf,” he says on instinct, before shutting his mouth at light speed. _Fuck_ , now is _not_ the time to act like a savage at the dinner table. Get it together, Keith.

“Ooooh! I’m so happy you like it!” Iris giggles. Something about the way she’s been intently looking at him signals that perhaps she was waiting for his reaction with bated breath. Huh. 

“So,” Alberto starts, setting his spoon down for a sip of beer. “How did you become friends?”

Lance coughs. “What?”

“You two, you know. How did you meet Keith?” 

It’s entirely conversational, and not intrusive at all. Keith wills away his body’s instinct to get all flustered, and decides that maybe he should take the reins on this one. He may not be a good liar, but he can be pretty good at omitting important information, thank you very much. Also, Lance looks like he might explode and Keith sort of feels bad for him. 

“I’m friends with Katie,” he supplies casually. “With her brother too, I’ve known them since I was seventeen. I ran into her and Lance at the climbing gym, and we all started going together.”

There. Not so bad.

“Oh, that’s great!” Iris grins. “You must be very good, Keith. You have big muscles.”

“ _MA_!” 

“What? Leandro, I’m just saying —”

“Leave Keith’s muscles alone!”

“I, uh —” Keith blushes, at a complete loss for what to say. “Thank… you?” ends up being what he settles on. It’s weird, but… he means it. Compliments are nice, even when they’re coming from your unknowing pseudo-mother-in-law. 

Alberto lets out a hearty chuckle, setting his fork down in his plate. “Iris used to go crazy for my muscles —”

“Ay cariño,” Lance’s mom drawls, winking at Alberto, “tú sabes que todavía es así.”

Whatever that meant, it’s enough to get Lance blushing furiously while staring daggers at his plate. Keith manages to catch his eye just enough to shoot him a small eyebrow raise. Lance, however, only manages to blush harder. 

“Keith, are you a student?” Iris asks, apparently diverting. Keith blinks, resuming eating his meal. 

“Uh, no. I’m working full time. At a bike shop?”

“Oh?”

“I’m a mechanic… like, with bikes.”

“That’s lovely!” Iris perks up, grinning at him. “How long have you been doing that?”

“Uh, since I was twenty-one? I started part time as an apprentice and my boss ended up hiring me full time.” Keith can’t help but smile as well, Lance’s mom’s is kind of contagious. 

“Have you worked with cars, too?” Alberto asks. Lance lets out a small chuckle that that. 

Keith nods. “Yeah… I helped a —” 

Something about the idea of mentioning the triad makes a tight knot blossom in his chest. Maybe it’s because something about this night is incredibly… traditional, in a way that Keith definitely isn’t used to. If anything, the triad is most definitely not traditional in the slightest. Keith sort of has a “normal person” image to uphold right now. 

“ — a friend. I helped him fix up a Westfalia —”

“OOOH!” Alberto exclaims, his fork clattering in his plate. “I used to drive one, back in college. Spent a lot of time fixing her. She was beautiful.”

Keith blinks, smiling. “Yeah, it was… pretty cool. We painted it and I had to rewire the transmission to fit a newer engine, which was hard.”

“I’m sure it was! I've done the same thing. Wasn't easy.”

“Oh, look at you boys,” Iris cooes. “Lancito, you pick such nice friends.”

“Heh,” Lance chuckles at his plate. It’s almost indiscernible, but Keith can sense the hint of strain in his voice. “Yep, I sure do.”

Alberto asks a few more car questions, and Keith’s relieved to discover that this isn't some sort of test. Rather, Lance’s dad mostly seems happy to have someone to talk to about a hobby — someone who can actually empathize with him. It’s nice, actually. And it only takes a minute or two for Keith to start feeling a lot more at ease. 

Eventually, Iris seems tired of the mechanic talk and decides to take matters into her own hands.

“So,” she starts, taking a small sip of her beer. Keith mimics her on instinct. “Do you have anyone special in your life?”

Keith swallows. “Wha?”

“You know —”

“ _Ma_ —” Lance hisses under his breath.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Keith?”

… Great, Keith thinks, suddenly sweating. How the fuck is a person supposed to answer that? Keith’s usual response is either, ‘no’ or ‘gay,’ and the former is typically an easier answer. Except… it’s not exactly true anymore. Sure, Lance isn’t his girlfriend but he’s the closest thing Keith’s got. 

This is also really not the best time to be reminded of how absolutely shit at lying he is. 

Lance takes a deep breath, no doubt gearing up to answer for him. But Keith… he definitely does not want to let that happen. That’d be too weird.

“Yes.”

… Oh god. 

Lance is just gaping at him when he looks over. He mouths a very subtle “what the fuck?” in Keith’s direction. He sort of shrugs in response, because the fuck was he supposed to do? Jesus, if things could get any worse — 

“Oooh, that’s too bad. I thought Rachel would like you, Keith, don’t you think so, Lancito?”

“MA —”

“Yeah, uh, sorry?” Keith spoons chicken into his mouth to stop himself from talking. 

“That’s very nice, though!” Iris continues. “She must be lovely. What’s her name?”

Fuck fuck shit shit

“Uhhhhh, Krolia — ”

… Oh god. Oh fuck. 

“ — anna.” Keith finishes, coughing. “Her name is Krolianna.”

It only takes maybe four milliseconds before Lance is cackling at full volume, choking on his coconut water. Keith feels blood rush to his cheeks as he tries his damndest to keep putting food in his mouth to stop things from getting worse. He has absolutely no clue what Iris and Alberto’s faces are doing, and he has absolutely no intention of finding out anytime soon. It’s probably not good.

“I’m sorry!” Lance wheezes, still chuckling. He waves a hand around, blinking back the beginnings of tears. “I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s the way you said it. It was funny.”

“No need to be embarrassed, Keith!” Alberto chuckles. “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”

“Oh yeah,” Lance adds, grinning. “She’s _super_ lovely.”

Iris raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you’ve met her?”

“Yeah, I’ve met Krolianna,” he replies, taking an obnoxiously casual sip of his coconut water. “She’s hot.”

Keith might actually drop dead today.

He shoots Lance a barely visible “please change the subject or I will fucking yeet myself out the window” look, hoping it makes at least a little sense to him. Thankfully, Lance’s mouth snaps shut in an instant, his lips pursed. 

“Okay, okay, let’s stop embarrassing Keith.” He picks up his fork, nudging Keith with his elbow. “Tell them about Kosmo.”

At the sound of his name, Kosmo raises his head off the ground from where he’s been lying in the living room. Keith looks over at him and, as if sensing his mild distress, Kosmo gets up without any further ado and trots over under the table to lie on Keith’s feet. Wow, alright. That definitely helps. 

“Where did he go?” Iris cooes, peeking under the table. “Oh! He’s so sweet!”

“Yeah, I got him in the winter.” Keith savours the warmth of his dog’s weight on his feet. Already, things are feeling a little better.

“Only the winter?” Alberto asks, raising an eyebrow. “He’s so well-behaved, he seems to know you very well.”

“He does,” Keith replies. Lying by omission is feeling a little hard right now, especially with how disastrously the girlfriend talk went. Being honest might be his best bet, even if it means being a little vulnerable.

“He’s my emotional support dog. I got him because I was anxious, so… he’s kind of trained for that, you know?”

Clutching a hand to her heart, Iris gasps. “Oh! That’s so sweet, what a nice boy!” She leans under the table again, lifting up the tablecloth. “Ay eres muy bueno! Que chico más hermoso, te quiero tanto—”

“I think my mom definitely loves him,” Lance laughs. 

“Of course I do! Quien es mi cachorrillo precioso—”

“Rrrrap!”

“Aw!”

Keith smiles, poking at his food. “He likes you.”

“He likes everyone,” Lance points out, eyebrow raised. “He’s so sweet, but he has an edge sometimes too. Sometimes when we’re in bed —”

Wait. Oh no.

“When Keith brings him over and I’m y’know —” 

Lance is totally blushing. It’s not the most visible, but it’s definitely there. Keith winces at the slip up, staring daggers at his plate and praying that nothing seems amiss, even though his blood pressure may have gone from normal and healthy to life threatening in the past twenty minutes alone. How he’s managed to finish most of his plate is beyond him. 

“He’ll start getting all antsy and come bother me or… Pidge, ‘cause he wants attention —”

He’s rambling. Lance is _definitely_ aware of what he said, but Iris doesn’t seem to be noticing anything. She’s just blinking happily at him and sipping her beer, occasionally making kissing noises under the table. 

“ — Point is, it’s super cute. I feel like Kosmo is Keith’s owner most of the time, you know?”

Keith laughs a little, cracking his knuckles under the table. “... Yeah, it can be like that.”

“He’s always keeping you in check, it’s sweet.” Lance smiles, a little more relaxed this time. “I like having him around.”

The building knot in Keith’s chest untwists itself a little, letting him breathe again. He smiles back at Lance, risking things a little and poking their feet together for a fleeting moment under the table. Lance smirks to himself, picking up his cutlery to keep eating, and Keith pulls his gaze away as Iris speaks up. 

“That’s so sweet, boys. I miss having pets! Animals are such pure souls.”

“They are,” Alberto replies, glancing over at Keith, and then at Lance. He blinks and takes a bite of food. “I miss having our cat around.”

“Uh, yeah, Lance told me about him.”

“He was so grumpy!” Lance’s mom sighs. “Buñuelo loved hugs, but he always had this angry little face.”

“His name means ‘doughnut’ in Spanish,” Lance points out. “Rachel and I got to name him since we were the youngest. I was, like, four.”

Iris gasps. “I have photos!”

“ _MA_ —”

Lance’s protest falls on deaf ears as Iris bounces up from the table and runs over into the living room. She’s back in nearly an instant, clutching a striped photo album to her bosom. Keith can’t really help but smile — her excitement is palpable, and probably a little bit contagious. 

She opens the album immediately, flipping through its pages at warp speed. “I have photos of Lancito and Buñuelo together —”

“ _Oh God_ ,” Lance mumbles, running a hand down his face. His father only laughs at him as he takes another sip of beer. 

“This one!” Iris yells, flipping the album around and leaning over the table. Keith squints, bending forward for a peek of a photo of a young boy who could only really be Lance holding a small kitten under its armpits. 

“Oh my God,” Keith mumbles, kind of mesmerized. Lance made an adorable kid — despite his obviously much more cherubic features, 4 year-old Lance looks almost like a photoshopped version of his current self. “Lance, you were… cute. The cat is too.”

“Excuse me.” Lance blushes, forking at his chicken. “I’m still cute.”

“Of course you are,” Iris adds absentmindedly. She snatches the album back and rifles through it again. “Ah! Here’s one a year later.”

The next photo depicts Lance and Buñuelo sleeping, curled up against one another like lion cubs. It’s the cutest thing Keith’s probably ever seen in his life (aside from Kosmo) and his heart probably stops beating for a second or two.

“Oh… Wow,” Keith mumbles, trying his best not to be too transparent. Friends don’t get emotional over their platonic friends’ childhood photos, he reminds himself. 

“I know, they’re so sweet!” Iris sighs, gazing at the photos. “I miss that cat, he had such a big personality.”

“We used to joke that Bunuelo was Iris’ favourite child,” Alberto chuckles heartily.

“It’s true,” Lance adds, “there were literally no photos of me until we got him.”

“What about you, Keith?” Iris asks, settling back down in her seat and pushing the album aside. “Did you grow up with animals?”

“Uh,” Keith starts, a slight tension building in his throat. “Sort of. My grandparents had a dog when I was growing up. He was a golden retriever. I only saw him when we visited, though.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.” Iris smiles again, completely soft and genuine. “Do you have photos with him too?”

It’s a completely innocent question, Keith knows, but it still feels intrusive. Thing is, Keith knows his family history is a patchwork of good and bad, and he’s come to accept it over the years. The past isn’t something he can change, and it’s made him who he is. On a certain level, he’s proud of everything both he and his mother have been through — even if he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone else. 

What he isn’t the biggest fan of, though, is how people react when he’s honest about it. Keith’s been in too many situations where seemingly innocent questions have unearthed one or several tragic tidbits, only to be met with pitying looks and contrived sympathy. It’s something he would simply rather not talk about. Sometimes, though, it’s not like he has a choice. And if he’s going to be spending time around Lance’s family as his _partner_ , these are the sort of thing that will come up. 

“No,” Keith eventually replies. He takes a steady breath. “My dad’s parents had all my childhood photos. My parents couldn’t afford pictures, and we didn’t live in the same place as them.”

He doesn’t really look at anyone.

“I haven’t seen them since my dad passed away, so…”

When he eventually looks up, everyone’s eyes are, as expected, completely focused on him. Keith feels a little heat building in his cheeks, slightly embarrassed at the palpable shift in mood. But before he can start feeling too weird, Lance pipes up.

“You have that one of you and your parents at your place though.” His voice is light and matter-of-fact. “I’ve seen it — the one where you’re wearing the fireman hat? It’s really cute.”

“Oh, yeah.” Keith kind of forgot about that one. It’s true though. “Yeah, my grandma — my mom’s mom — borrowed our neighbour’s camera to take it.” He smiles a little, almost relieved. “Yeah, I have that one. My mom and grandma have a copy too.”

When he finally lets his gaze flit over to Lance’s parents, he’s surprised to note that there isn’t an ounce of noticeable pity on their faces. Instead, Alberto only nods, and Iris gives him gentle smile. 

“My father passed away when I was young too,” Iris says. It’s not at all what Keith was expecting to hear, and he hopes his face doesn’t betray his surpris.. “We didn’t have much to remember him by, either. But we had our memories, and that was enough. He was a good man. I’m sure your father was, too.”

“He was,” Keith responds, his eyes welling up only slightly despite the bundle of emotion bubbling in his throat. _Don’t cry at the table, keep it together._ He nudges Kosmo with his foot, and his dog noses it back. “Thank you.”

Well. That didn’t go as expected. 

“No worries at all.” is all Iris says in response, her smile all warmth and understanding. Then, perhaps sensing Keith’s unwillingness to continue along this thread of conversation, she gets up and sets her cutlery in her now empty plate. “Dessert? I’ll give you a few minutes to finish your drinks and I’ll have some ice cream and warm apples ready.”

Alberto grins, moving to clean up his plate as well. “Does that sound good to you boys?”

“Yeah —”

“But you’re lactose intolerant,” Lance interjects, shooting Keith a stern look. 

Keith blinks. He’d kind of forgotten about that — it happens sometimes, especially when his mind is elsewhere. “Oh, uh… yeah I am.” 

“We have lactase pills in the pantry if you want,” Iris chimes in. “Marco’s wife needs them when she’s over!”

“Amazing,” Keith supplies. He’s really happy about it, honestly. If he’s being real, he’d have probably insisted on having ice cream anyway and prayed that the poop attack would happen once he was at his apartment. Living on the edge is kind of his thing. 

It’s cute that Lance is looking out for him, though. 

“Great!” Iris exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I’ll get everything ready, you can keep talking to Alberto about cars. Leandro, come help with the apples.”

Lance bolts up as if pulled by an invisible thread. Keith can relate — he often has the same knee-jerk response to demands made by his grandmother. 

“So,” Alberto starts casually, taking a seat across from Keith after stacking everyone’s plates. “How long were you working on that Westfalia?”

Keith relaxes, happy to be back in familiar territory. 

~~~

“I’ll drive you home, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Uh, you sure?” Keith asks Lance’s dad, wide-eyed and slightly awkward from where he’s stood near their mudroom. It’s adorable that he thought for a second that Lance’s parents would let him _walk_ home with Kosmo at this hour. What a doofus.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Lance’s ma reassures him. “Alberto used to love driving Pidge and Hunk home, it’s something he always looked forward to.”

“Of course,” Lance’s dad chuckles, grabbing his car keys from a bowl on the coffee table. “You live in the Mile End?”

“Little Italy actually,” Keith replies. “Beaubien and Drolet.”

“That’s not far at all. I’ll start up the car.” 

He passes through the doorway, slipping on his Birkenstocks and is out before Keith can start protesting again. At the sound of the door, Kosmo pipes up and trots over, all wide-eyed and excited. 

“I’d come with you normally,” Lance says, leaning down to give Kosmo a couple goodbye pats. “But I don’t really want to be far from a bathroom right now.” It’s kind of funny to be talking about the bladder stuff all casual and open around Keith, but it’s a lot easier than filtering himself, he realizes. Honestly, Lance _would_ much rather join them than not — it would definitely help Keith in the ‘feeling awkward’ department — but he’s kind of done making consciously bad decisions. At least, for the next little while. 

“That’s ok,” Keith responds, smiling. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks between Lance and his mother, strands falling a little loose around his forehead. “I, uh — thank you. Both of you, this was… this was really nice.”

“It was our pleasure, thank _you_ for coming over,” Lance’s ma says, before pulling him into a firm hug, her soft arms squeezing him around the waist and face smushed into his shoulder. Keith looks a little startled at first like he forgot about the existence of his own arms, but he hugs her back once he gathers his bearings. 

It’s really, _really_ sweet. Seeing Keith and his mother together makes him a little less anxious and a little more hopeful about coming clean. Knowing he and Lance’s dad got along only adds to it. Still, Lance _knows_ what his parents can be like when meeting a kid’s partner for the first time. They tend to get slightly more judgy than normal — Lisa, Marco’s wife, can attest to that. Her first dinner at their table felt a little more like a pop quiz than a conversation. 

He knows it comes from a place of caring. Lance’s parents hate seeing their kids get hurt and rarely trust strangers to treat them in accordance with their very high standards. When Rachel dated a guy that turned out to be shitty, it was a whole giant thing. When Lance and Jenny broke up, they were livid. Maybe rightfully so. 

He just doesn’t want Keith to be subject to that. It’s ironic, he realizes, given how Lance was anxious for so long over whether Keith would leave him once things got too real. But it’d be dumb to subject Keith to judgement for another person’s actions — Lance hopes his parents end up coming to this conclusion, too.

When the hug is broken, Lance realizes that this is the part where _he’s_ supposed to be hugging Keith goodbye. Obviously, his first instinct is to do what they usually do and put a hand on his jaw and deliver one to four pecks to his face and/or mouth. When they’re not in a rush to bolt somewhere, they _do_ hug sometimes — though said hugs are pretty gay and usually involve a solid ten seconds of neck nuzzling. 

They do end up hugging — it’s a little stilted, though, like they’re not sure which way they should be putting their hands. Good to know Keith feels about as awkward as he does. _Pretend he’s Hunk_ , Lance tells himself before remembering that his hugs with Hunk are sometimes even more gay than the ones he gives Keith. He settles on pretending Keith is Luis, and keeps his arms around him for about seventy milliseconds before pulling back and offering him a fist to bump. Keith just stares at it blankly. _Nice_.

“Be safe, baby!” Lance’s mother coos at Kosmo from where she’s crouching and squishing his face in her hands. _Ah_ , looks like she wasn’t even paying attention to them. They could have grabbed each other’s flaccid dick bulges and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. Sometimes Lance forgets that the clinical attention-deficit came from her side of the family. 

After the door shuts, things are oddly silent; it’s as if Lance can feel physically feel Keith’s absence. It’s a strange reminder of just how comfortable they’ve become with one another. He wonders if that’s something that his parents were able to pick up on, even subconsciously. 

Lance follows his mom into the kitchen, feeling strange in his skin as someone who remembers what it was like to be shorter than her. She hands him a dish towel and sets a drying pad on the table, humming something under her breath. Lance leans back against the counter, rag in hand, like he’s done countless times before in this kitchen. 

“That was very nice,” his Ma starts, turning on the sink. “Keith seems like a good man.”

“He is. He’s a good friend,” Lance replies on instinct, vaguely staring off in the direction of the fridge. 

“It’s too bad he’s seeing someone,” she continues casually. _Fuck_ , Lance should have known better than to assume she’d be over this already. “Rachel would like him.”

He worries his lip, trying to think of a way to divert. Unfortunately, Lance has already expended _way_ too many social spoons today what with the big talk and the whole family dinner thing. He’s still kind of in pain, and definitely tired _and_ probably verging on unmedicated, so it’s not like he has any idea what to do.

“His dog was so well behaved,” his Ma continues. _Yesss_ , Lance thinks, releasing an internal sigh of relief. Dogs are easy. He can work with dogs. 

“Yeah, Kosmo’s great. He’s like a person sometimes.”

“He’s big like one,” his Ma laughs. Her eyes crinkle a bit, and a warm fondness blooms in Lance’s chest. He kinda missed this — living in an apartment’s been great for a lot of things, but hanging out with his mom post-dinner is something that was always so special. In his grumpy and pain-induced stupor the last couple days, he didn’t really think about doing this. It’s a shame, really. 

Some of the best conversations he’s ever had with his mom were right here, drying the dishes after she washes them. They were just like this when he told her he met Jenny all those years ago — he wasn’t planning on it, but it sort of just happened. It was good, though. She seemed to enjoy being trusted enough to talk about it. 

They were here when he came to her for advice about liking Pidge, too. Now, _that_ was kind of a funny one. Lance was eighteen and single, craving emotional intimacy like nothing else in the world. He and Pidge had one of those relationships that felt closer than anything he’d experienced (save for with Hunk). They’d often talk on the phone late into the night and early morning until they were high and giddy on sleep deprivation. It was wild seeing how a person could be different from so up close — what they were _really_ like when things were unfiltered. Thing was, he knew she wasn’t interested in him — or anyone really, at least not in _that_ way. And although it feels so far away now, it was something that deeply affected him once. 

His mom was great about that, too. Said something about how even if Katie doesn’t love him like a boyfriend, she can still love him like a friend — that one kind of love doesn’t need to be more important than another. 

They were here in the kitchen, too, when Lance came out to her. He was nervous, as one typically is, beforehand. This time, though, things didn’t go… as ideally as he’d hoped. It didn’t go bad, by any means, but his mom seemed a little confused. He hadn’t dated any guys yet though he was sort of casually seeing a nonbinary person, and a feeble attempt at explaining the gender identity spectrum in Spanglish was met with no more than some confused brow furrows and hums. She didn’t really get it, Lance had concluded. Thing is, making your mother take your sexuality seriously can be a task and a half when you’ve been struggling with the same thing for years. 

Lance made some sort of vague self-deprecating joke about how he’d “probably never fall in love with a man anyway” because they were harder to find. His Ma laughed a little uncomfortably at that, though she might have just been feeding off his energy. It left him with a lot of questions, though — namely, was she _actually_ okay with it? Or keeping her real feelings to herself?

His dad had been even harder to read, if that’s even remotely possible. Thank _god_ Veronica had talked to them about her own bi thing beforehand, otherwise Lance is sure the conversation would have been much longer. His Pa had said something like “Okay, so you date boys now?” and Lance tried to explain how that wasn’t really how this works. When he said he’d never dated a guy, his father innocently asked him how he’d even know if he’d never tried. It wasn’t perfect, is what Lance is getting at — it was hard, and sometimes he wondered whether the “coming out” thing was even worth doing at all.

He ponders this while wiping each plate, worrying his lip a little as his Ma busies herself in the kitchen sink. When he’s with Keith, Lance barely thinks about the fact that they’re read as a gay couple. It just feels normal, like every other time he’s been with someone. Around his parents, though, it’s a _Thing_ weighing heavy on his shoulders. It doesn’t feel great, honestly. Lying by omission, though, doesn’t either. 

“Lancito?” his Ma says gently, poking his arm with a wet pair of metal tongs. “Hola?”

“Lo siento,” he mumbles in a feeble attempt at shaking himself out of his own head. He grabs the tongs and starts drying them before walking over to set them down on the drying pad. 

“Estas bien?” 

He doesn’t look at her right away. Instead, Lance grips the edge of the kitchen table and leans forward, biting his lip. “I’m fine,” he mutters after a moment through a growing tightness in his throat. _Fucking hell,_ now is not the time for this. He’s already been forced to bare his soul once today. 

“Really, I’m okay,” he insists when he hears her turn off the faucet, closing his eyes and attempting to regain composure. 

“Are you hurting, cariño?”

“No, no it’s fine —”

“Sit, it’s okay,” she insists, lightly guiding him into a seat at the table. “I’ll put water on. Where is your hot pack?”

“It’s not —” Lance balls his fists onto the table, staring at them. “It’s not that. It’s not —”

When he looks up at her and takes in her warm, albeit concerned expression, it’s enough to break him. Squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath, Lance tries to breathe in and out one last time before succumbing. Jesus Christ, he hopes it goes better this time around. He’s not sure if he’d be able to handle it any other way. 

“It’s Keith.”

“... Hm?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance mutters, dragging his hand down his face. It’s a tad wet, he realizes. “He’s my boyfriend. We’re… we’re together.”

“... Oh, _Cariño_.”

And before he knows what’s happening, she’s hugging him. 

It’s solid and warm, and he sniffles a little into her shoulder. He hadn't noticed when the tears started, but today has sort of been one of those days where he’s spent more time teetering on the edge than not. At least she’s hugging him; he didn’t get a hug the first time. He didn’t cry either, though, so maybe that’s what changed.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she mumbles into his hair. “I would have picked up a nicer dessert —”

“... Hmph?”

“Ah _mierda_ , I should have cooked something nicer —”

“Ma?” He pulls back to look at her, blinking a little. “Wh —”

“Lancito.” His mother holds his face in her hands and pushes some hair out of his face, laughing lightly when he scrunches up his nose. “Why did you lie to us?”

… Ah, shit. How the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“I am so, so sorry if I ever made you think I would not be okay with you bringing a boy home.” 

Lance sniffles, swallowing. “You’re fine with it?”

She smiles a little sadly, stepping back and taking a seat at the table next to him. “When you told me about how you… don’t only like girls, I didn’t know what to say.”

Lance blinks, resting his crossed arms on the tabletop. 

“I think I was just worried about you. I didn’t want you to get hurt or get in trouble. But I’m not worried anymore, okay?”

She slides a hand over and rests it on her forearm. Lance kind of just stares at it for a moment, trying to wrap his head around this entire sequence of events. Things have honestly been moving so fast today since Keith arrived that he’s almost struggling to keep up. It’s all good things, though, which makes it easier.

“You’re not?” is all he ends up saying, a little choked up. 

“Of course not, Mijo. It wasn’t right for me to assume anything. And I know you can take care of yourself.”

He manages to smile this time. “What… what about Keith, though? What do you think of him?”

She chuckles, the corners of her eyes wrinkling before pursing her lips in thought. After a moment, she raises an eyebrow at him. “He has a good heart. And he cares about you, it’s very obvious.”

Lance huffs, smirking. “He came all the way here to check if I was okay.”

His mother tilts her head. “He told me he came to make you feel better. That’s why he brought Kosmo, too.”

Lance blinks, staring at the tabletop as he lets her words sink in, realizing that perhaps he may have been a little wrong about Keith as well. See, he totally thought the gatecrashing was a manifestation of anxiety more than anything else. Lance was under the impression that his ghosting managed to drive Keith insane enough that he decided to take matters into his own hands. There’s definitely more than a little truth to that, though maybe he’d stopped himself from seeing the entire picture. 

_“Would it help if I said it won’t change anything?”_

It wasn’t _about_ knowing what was going on. It was about making Lance happy again. 

“Leandro? What are you thinking about?”

He breathes, throat tightening. Slowly but surely, Lance realizes he couldn’t stop himself from smiling right now even if he tried. “I think he really loves me. Like, _really_ really.”

“Of course he does,” his mother chuckles, bringing their hands together. Her eyes are a little wet, still crinkled at their edges. “And you?”

“Yeah… yeah, I really love him too.”

~~~

The drive is less weird than Keith thought it would be. 

“I wanted to make her look like she did back in ‘86, when I used to see photos of her and my abuelo on his big road trip —”

Turns out, all he needed to do was ask whether Albert had been working on a car-related project recently. 

“They don’t make the colour anymore, so I had to get it mixed down at the shop. It took a little work but we got it as close as it can get —”

To be honest, it’s kind of nice. Keith was a little scared of needing to do most of the work of filling the awkward silence, but that didn’t end up being an issue. 

“We needed a new engine, too. I wanted her running as good as she used to, but with better fuel efficiency. But after I checked, none of the shops had something that would fit —”

Keith smiles, occasionally glancing out the window at the flurry of lights passing by. The drive isn’t long at all — maybe fifteen, twenty minutes tops. After surviving the entire dinner, it doesn’t seem all that long. 

“We ended up needing to order an engine online. I had no idea you could do that! Marco showed me, though. It worked out very well.”

“That’s great,” Keith supplies, smiling. He lets himself relax a little, leaning against the headrest. “I’ve found a lot of really good stuff online, too.”

“Oh?”

“At work, I mean,” he continues. “Sometimes we refurbish bikes and we end up going a little overboard, picking special pieces that would look and work better than the parts we have in-shop.”

“You know,” Alberto starts, chuckling. “For a while I had no clue bikes could be just as complicated as cars.”

“I don’t know about that.” Keith huffs out a laugh, “I wouldn’t say _just_ as complicated.”

“Maybe not. But still, Luis showed me how he built his bike one year, and I had no idea about any of it. It was surprising, I thought I knew my way around mechanics, but there’s always something to learn isn’t there?”

“Yeah.” Pulling at his extra elastic on his wrist, he gazes outside. “I’m building a bike right now actually.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, for Lance —”

… Alright. Keith wasn’t actually planning on bringing this up — his brain sort of just went there. It’s fine, though. It’ll probably be fine. 

“Oh really?!” Alberto laughs, turning the corner onto Keith’s cross street. “Poor boy. When he lost his bike, I think he cried for a full day.”

Ah, so “lost” is what Lance had told his dad. No mention of the girl who tied him to a tree. Keith supposes he wouldn’t tell his own dad about that sort of thing either. 

“Someone brought it in, actually. Into the shop.”

This time, Alberto literally takes his eyes off the road for a split-second, eyes wide in disbelief. He grins a little wider as he turns his attention back to the road. 

“And you knew it was Leandro’s?”

“Not at first, it was a while ago and I didn’t… I didn’t know him, then. But he showed me a picture one day and I recognized it. It was just the frame, but definitely the same one.”

“Wow, what are the chances?”

“Heh, I know. I’m fixing it up for him, for his birthday.”

“... Oh?”

“I did the same thing you did, actually,” Keith muses, leaning his elbow against the armrest of the car door, eyes trailing at the road ahead. “I wanted to make it look really good, so I ended up ordering almost everything online. There were a couple things that didn’t measure up when I got them, so it took a lot of trial and error.”

“Is that right?”

“The drawings, too. I needed to get some film to cover the frame so they wouldn’t scratch off anymore.” Keith blinks, thoughtful, remembering the night he stayed at the garage on his day off to fill in all the little drawings with metallic sharpie. “I tried to fill in the drawings where they were scratched, too. Nadia and Sylvio worked hard on them, I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

Alberto doesn’t say anything after that. After a moment, Keith realizes he didn’t even hum in agreement or make any sort of sound at all. As they pull up in front of Keith’s apartment, he chances a glance at his driver. Brow furrowed only slightly, Alberto seems thoughtful as he parks the car and turns off the ignition a little slow and methodic. 

It’s the silence that gets to him. Their entire ride, Keith thought things were going well — at least, well enough that the air didn’t seem thick around them. It’s a palpable shift, and Keith can’t help but wonder whether he’d said something to set it off. 

“You know,” Alberto starts, not looking at Keith just yet. “I should be thanking you.”

_What?_

“You care about him a lot.”

… _Oh_.

He smiles, almost imperceptibly before glancing over to Keith. The lines on his face are relaxed, sincere; his eyes searching. After a moment, he takes a deep breath, furrowing his brow in what Keith could only describe as subtle discomfort.

“He cares about you, too.”

Keith wills himself not to open the car door and run out prematurely. As hard as he tries, he can’t really help the heat rising to his face. Hopefully the streetlights won’t provide enough light for Alberto to notice. 

“I don’t want you and Leandro to think you need to hide things from us. If I’m wrong, you can tell me, but —”

His eyes squint a little, flitting over Keith’s face before continuing. 

“I don’t think I am.”

Keith’s mouth feels dry as the desert. He looks away, brows pinching hard at the bridge of his nose. One incredibly tense pause later, he can’t really take it anymore. 

“What gave it away?”

And to his surprise, Alberto lets out a short, quiet laugh. “He looks at you like Marco looks at Lisa.”

Blinking down at his lap, Keith can barely hear his thoughts over the pounding of his own pulse. 

“You know, there was a time when seeing my son with a man would have made me uncomfortable. I think that might be why Leandro didn’t say anything to us. But…”

“... But?” Keith manages, though his voice is quieter than normal.

Alberto sighs, shifting in his seat from the corner of Keith’s eyes. “I’ve seen him go through so much since then. Before you visited, I hadn’t seen him smile since he arrived at our place three days ago. And then you arrived and he was smiling, and laughing, and just... much happier. It was a relief.”

There’s pressure building behind Keith’s eyes again. God _dammit_ , this fucking day. 

“I’m just happy there’s someone who loves him and takes care of him when we’re not around. We worry sometimes, but… he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

“It’s not just him,” Keith interjects, shaking his head. When he looks up to meet Alberto’s gaze, the man raises his brow. “Lance takes care of me too. I — I can be a handful sometimes, and he’s patient and…”

He trails off, worrying his lip. Alberto nods in reply, his small smile growing only _slightly_ wider. 

“Well… I don’t know what else to say, other than welcome to our family. I hope we get to see you again soon, Keith. Don’t be a stranger.”

He glances into the back seat, where Kosmo is now sitting up and panting. “I think your friend here is getting impatient.”

“He probably is.” Keith chuckles, despite the tightness in his throat. “I should get him to bed.”

“I’m serious, you know,” Alberto adds in what Keith can only describe as a _dad voice_. “Come over again for dinner, and we’ll do it right this time. No more secrets.”

“Okay,” he nods, bracing a hand on the car door. He offers Alberto a smile in return, before opening it and setting a foot on the pavement. “Thanks so much, again.”

“Thank _you_. See you soon.”

Keith manages to hold it in for the walk up his exposed front staircase to his apartment door. He manages, still, when he turns back to offer Lance’s dad a gentle wave as fiddles with his keys. It’s only after, when he’s safely inside the apartment that he leans against the door and slides to the floor. 

Kosmo is with him in an instant, nudging himself between his legs and curling up into Keith’s front. He braces himself against his dog, arms wrapping around him in a hug and muffled sniffs into his fur. Except despite what it might look like, Keith isn’t sad; he’s _something_ , but it’s not that. It’s something good, something incredibly freeing after a night that amounted to be one hell of an emotional trial. Hours earlier, Keith left his apartment with only unanswered questions and an inexplicably unwavering sense of dread. 

Now, things are different. He has a boyfriend now, a _partner_ who listened to him talk about the worst things he’s been through and offered only kindness in return. On top of that, he has so much more insight into who Lance is as a person — as well as the knowledge that Lance trusted him enough to bare parts of himself he kept hidden for so long. Keith even has _in-laws_ now, who welcomed him into their home with open arms, and fed him as if he was one of their own. 

It’s too much for his little heart to handle. But he handles it anyway like a fucking champ, crying out happy, tired tears into Kosmo’s neck fluff and wondering what it might be like to have his Mom meet Iris and Alberto. Maybe even Shiro, Adam, and Curtis, too. 

And then, he thinks of what it might be like to see Lance again. To introduce him to his grandma as his _boyfriend_ — God, Keith can already see her fussing over Lance as his mom looks on, laughing with her eyes like she always does. These aren’t things Keith’s ever even considered — not even abstractly. But here he is, lovestruck and dumb, sitting on his drity welcome mat with his dog in his arms, thinking only about what it would be like for their two families to become one. 

“I’m such a fucking messs,” he mumbles into Kosmo’s ear after a minute. His dog only licks a stripe across his cheek in agreement. 

It’s going to be okay. It was _always_ going to be okay; Keith feels a little silly for having thought otherwise. 

~~~

Lance knows his dad knows the second he steps through the door. 

His Pa’s kind of transparent like that — he may seem like this big, surly and stoic man, but Lance knows better than to think he doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. The second they lock eyes when he returns from driving Keith home, his father’s face breaks out into a proud smile that could only mean he’d _learnt things_. Lance sighs the minute he sees it, chuckling to himself as his Mom kneads her deft fingers into his shoulder.

After seeing his mom’s reaction, he’s not at all afraid of his father’s.

“Keith and I had a chat,” his dad starts, walking into the kitchen before taking a seat at the table.

“Oh?” his mom teases, nudging Lance’s shoulder gently. He blushes, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. 

His dad sighs. “He’s a good man, I like him.”

“Ma knows too,” Lance sighs, nudging his head in her direction. “It’s okay. It’s not a secret anymore.”

“Good,” his dad says, grinning. He gets up to deliver Lance a solid hug punctuated by a firm slap on the back. 

His mom giggles. “Haces una hermosa pareja! ¿Verdad Alberto?”

“Sì, sì” his dad responds, laughing. Lance blushes even harder at that. 

As embarrassing as it is, and as much as he wants to explode right now, he wouldn’t really have it any other way. As far as parental reactions to new partners go, Lance has _kind of_ lucked out. It’s a surprise, but a very welcome one. 

He relays all of this to Hunk and Pidge over his parent’s home phone when he’s back in his room (after _many_ apologies for going radio silent). 

“ _Aww, I’m so happy for you gu —_ ”

“ _You’re both so fucking stupid. Of _course_ your family would love Keith, he’s like a lost puppy. Your mom eats that shit up._”

They gush about Hunk and Shay, too. Lance feels a little bad for getting so wrapped up in his own issues that he didn’t get to bother his best friend about his budding romance. Hunk takes it in stride, though, as he always does. 

“ _We have a date Friday!_ ”

“ _They’re so gross, Lance. Even worse than you and Keith. Hunk keeps facetiming her while he cooks, it’s nauseating._ ”

It’s only afterward, when Lance is lying on his bed alone with his thoughts once again, that he winds up thinking back to his conversation with Keith. Namely, about the Jenny thing. After thinking things through and talking things out, having a conversation with her is starting to seem less daunting and more productive. After the whole big talk with Keith, it's definitely not as scary anymore.

A wise person once told him not to message exes after midnight — he thinks it was Veronica, and he’s pretty sure it’s because she had sent her high school ex a series of 10 embarrassing texts at 1 in the morning. Lance decides it’s sound advice that he doesn’t need to listen to.

 **Jenny**  
12:09 AM

  
>on second thought, i’ll take you up on your offer  
>how’s this weekend sound?  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already cringing thinking about the inevitable moment Lance's parents meet Keith's mom and realize that he used his own mom's name as inspo when inventing a fake gf. What an IDIOT
> 
> Also, I like to HC that Lance's family has been speaking both Spanish and English at home since he was young, since his parents wanted their kids to be comfortable speaking Spanish, English, and French. Since their kids went to French primary and secondary schools, they put more effort into practicing English whenever they could. The neighborhood they live in has a TON of linguistic diversity with many trilingual residents irl. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos have a 100% chance of brightening my day! Since this fic got deleted and re-uploaded, it might have lost your kudo/bookmark/subscription. You might need to resubscribe to keep getting updates! 
> 
> Come say hi to me on my [tumblr](https://sir--cumference.tumblr.com/) or my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SirCumf)! Asks about this fic, previews, and semi-related memes are all under my [Back to the Wall tag](https://sir--cumference.tumblr.com/tagged/back-to-the-wall).
> 
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